Change
by riterandreader
Summary: Who would have ever thought Paul would meet his match? While trying to escape the clingy exgirlfiend Kelly, Paul finds himself falling for the new tough girl. Chapter 14 up.
1. New

A/N (Author's Note): This is a sequel to _Twilight_, so those of you who haven't read that book, DON'T READ THIS FAN-FICTION! lol: just kidding. This is told half in Paul's pov, and occasionally transferring to Jackie's pov. Paul has been redeemed. He never loved Suze, really. Paul will find romance when he least expected it – and you just have to keep reading to find out. ::evil laugh:: P.S. – fluffy stuff shall come later on down the line, and I promise you it will be good, but it might be a while until things get there, so bear with me, and let me just tell you: good things come to those who wait. Hahahaha!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from the MEDIATOR series created by Meg Cabot, the wonderful writer that she is, and stuff. Her characters are (among the others): Paul, Jesse, Father Dom, Grandpa Slater ("Gramps" as the Paul in this story calls him), and Kelly.

DISCLAMIER: I don't own or whatever the following song: "New," by the great band, No Doubt who rocks hard! (In a good way). But I heard so long as I don't write down the entire lyrics of the song, I can't get sued, so that's what I did – didn't use all the lyrics, I mean.

CLAIMER: I create – and own – the character, Jackie Sonrisa! (ha ha!), she's mine, don't steal her. Do it and DIE! (j.k. about the "dying" part). Ditto goes for later characters that I create that go along with Jackie Sonrisa (her mom, dad, ghosts I make, etc.).

Okay, that's it. The rest is the story, you know. ;-)

* * *

Paul

Ch. 1: NEW

"Kelly, will you: Leave. Me._ Alone_!" I yelled into the stainless steel home-phone, before slamming it down onto the receiver. I gave a muffled cry of frustration and ran my fingers through my hair. _God! _Won't she ever get a clue? That we were _over_ with: finished; done; _no más._ There is nothing left: nada, zip, zilch; our relationship was through with.

I broke up with Kelly two weeks ago. It wasn't right to lead her on, and I can't love her - never did. Instead of accepting it, though, she became more and more stalker-y as the days passed. Now I had, what? 168 messages on my cell phone and answering machine in total. I wanted to plug the phone out, but the phone needed to be on, so that we could be able to call 911 for Gramps, like last time, on New Year's, when Gramps had stopped breathing. I shuddered, remembering that terrible, horrific night. One of his attendants called me, and we met up at the hospital. It was total chaos.

One of Gramp's attendants, John, walked into the kitchen. "Still on your case, that Kelly?" he gave me a sort of amused half-smile.

I mustered a rueful smile in return, but give a frustrated sigh, "Yeah," before opening the fridge, and taking out a Sierra Mist. I downed it. Then I told him, "My friends, Suze and Jesse will be here any moment."  
"Okay then; I'm just here to get your grandfather the beer he demanded for."

I really gave a smile then. Gramps has been doing much better lately – aside from the New Year's thing. Just today, he called the cable repairman a few colorful things – things that I think the _repairman_ won't forget in this lifetime – for not doing a good job, and thereby having Gramps miss _The Price is Right_, with Bob Barker, on channel four.

The doorbell rung and I let Suze and Jesse in. "Just try not to get all lovey-dovey like last time," I grin just a little bit.

"Hey! We're here to study mediator-lore!" cried Suze, and pretended to be offended. "Besides," she added in whisper. "If we wanted to make-out, I just would have Jesse come over to my house instead."

"I can hear you perfectly well, _querida_." Jesse wrapped his arms around Suze's waist. There were no hard feelings between the three of us – at least not any more. I duly acknowledged that Suze was right – about everything, actually. I apologized to her, and later on, to Jesse, too. The only way that I felt that I could perfectly – _absolutely_ – make it up to him, for _every_ thing I did (which was a lot, let me tell you) was to invite him to come and study shifting with Suze. I didn't think that I could find anything big enough to make up for my actions, but this seemed just about right.

I was over Suze – well, as over as a guy can be, without actually ever being in love. Let's face it; I never was in love with Suze. I just thought I was. So it didn't even hurt me to see them together, like they were now.

* * *

Fifteen minutes and 30 phone-calls later from Kelly, Suze let out a groan. "Just answer the phone, Paul!"

"No way! It'll just encourage her," I insisted.

Instead, I turned the ringer off the phone. That ought to do it – or so I thought. A second later, I heard Kelly's voice whine over the answering machine. "I know you're there, Paul! Pick it up! _Can't we just talk about this!_?"  
"She wants to talk?" I said incredulity. "I talked to her. I made it perfectly clear that she and I were over with. _She_ was the one who refused to _shut up, _when we 'talked'!" Then I give a groan, and took the phone of the hook, then put it back on, consequently hanging up on Kelly. "That's _it_," I say, and turn off the answering machine. "We already have caller-I.D. anyway," I explained to the two of them.

"You can't just keep avoid her like this, Paul," said Suze.

"Um, as you can tell, Suze," I eye her skeptically. Was she going to demand I get back together with Kelly? "I can; and I will."

I whipped out my cell-phone, and deleted all my text-messages from Kelly.

"Tried blocking her number yet?" Jesse asked. He's been catching on to 21st century life pretty well so far.

"Yes," I sink into my black leather desk chair, miserably. "But she uses pay-phones… her friends' cell phones… her friends' home-phones… her dad's office phones… her dad's cell phone…"

"We get the picture," they both say, in a rush.

"So what now?" I ask to no one in particular.

"Maybe I should send Brad after her," Suze mused out loud - to herself more than to Jesse and me. "He'd love for a chance to go out with Kelly, now that she's free. That ought to keep her busy for a while."

I stand up all of a sudden, in a burst of epiphany. "You're brilliant, Simon."

Suze looked confused. "What are you talking about?"  
"I think he means the comment about Kelly and your brother," Jesse said.

"My step-brother… and Kelly? You're not going to try to fix them up together, are you?" she looked up at me.

"God no!" I said, disgustedly. "Nothing like that. I mean I should find my own girlfriend to make Kelly get the picture – that we aren't boyfriend and girlfriend any more."

"I don't know about this…" Suze said.

"What? You doubt my ability to find a girlfriend?" I quirk my eyebrow up, questioningly.

"Nothing like that. It's just that… Paul, you can't just get a girlfriend like that," she snapped her fingers in the air. "It'll take weeks, months, God-knows how long until you find a girlfriend."

"With all due respect to your boyfriend," I nodded my head towards Jesse, who gave a slight nod of the head in return. "Not all guys wait for a long time before asking a girl out."

"I know that from personal experience, thank-you-very-much," Suze sardonically replied, referring to when I first asked her out, at the Pebble Beach Resort last summer. "I don't know… I just have a bad feeling about this. Besides, you're considered to be on 'rebound,' Paul."

"So what if I have a girlfriend soon after I break up?"

"I _mean_, well, it's not very nice to just ask a girl out, when you don't even like her, just to get Kelly off your back."

"So?" I said, stubbornly. "I'll _get _to like her then."

Suze gave a sigh of frustration. "Fine. Forget it. Never mind that I said anything, Paul. Now can we please get back to work?" Unfortunately, it was time for Jesse to take Suze home, so we headed for the door.

Just before leaving, Jesse said, "I agree with Susannah on this one, Slater. Don't toy with a girl's emotions. I don't quite understand 'rebound,' but I know that it's not gentlemanly to get a woman's hopes up, and then have to explain to her that you had to date her only for your own purposes."

They soon drove out the drive way, and I gave a loud sigh. I was trying to be all good about this, you know? No manipulating people… no overdosing them, or gagging them – not any more. Not like back before Suze proved that she was right, and that I… let's just say I've seen the error of my ways. Suze had been right about… a lot of things before. Maybe Suze and Jesse were right this time. Still, I couldn't think of any other solution. Besides, I argue to myself, I just might end up liking the girl – whoever that ends up being – anyway. _So what difference does it make?_ I tell myself, as I go to bed. I can't sleep. My mind keeps going in circles around this whole issue. What should I do? And with that thought, I yawn and finally drift off into sleep.

* * *

"This is just great," I put down my backpack and grab a seat in detention hall. That's right. Detention. For using words Sister Ernestine deemed "filthy and inappropriate" to use at this school. It's all Kelly's fault, I think to myself. If she'd just left me alone, maybe I wouldn't have used such colorful four-letter words that I did when I told her to back off and leave me alone.

Oh well. All the better, I think. At least she can't come into detention without having Sister Ernestine notice. And the Sister would shoo her away. I should probably get detention more often, I think, humorlessly to myself. My train of thought is cut off when I hear singing coming from behind me. The heck - ?  
I turn and see this girl with headphones on so loud I could hear catches of music from where I was sitting.

"_New. You're so new/And I've never had this taste in my mouth… You're different. You're different from the former…_"

I waved my hand in front of her face – she was working on what looked like was a chemistry worksheet. Finally I got her attention. She pulled off the headphones, and left them hanging around her neck.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"I don't know if you've ever had detention before," I told her. "But um, you're really not supposed to talk."

She laughed. Her laugh sounded like Christmas bells. That astonished me, because she definitely did _not_ look anything fragile – or Christmas-y, for that matter (obviously. It was in the beginning of February, why should she look Christmas-y?). She had on combat boots, and thick, black eyeliner. Her jet-black, straight, chin-length hair had the occasional streaks of bright red in it. "_Trust_ me," she looked amused. "This defiantly isn't my first time in detention. Besides, I wasn't _talking_. I was _singing_," She said, matter-of-factly.

I grin at her. She was kind of fun. Who was I to force her to stay quiet? Besides, when she sang along to her C.D., her voice was actually kind of pretty. It was very calming to listen to, but I had a feeling if she wanted to, she could belt out notes better than Christina Aguilera (and Christina Aguilera has a pretty damn good voice). She was just holding back. Sister Ernestine had walked in, though, and said, "Miss Sonrisa! Head phones _off!_"

The tough girl grumbled but, unlike what I expected her to do, she took the headphones off and stuffed it in her black backpack.

"Great," she groans. "And that was my favorite track, too."

"What song were you listening to?" I ask, curious.

" 'New'," she smiles.

"_New_?"

"It's by No Doubt," her smile grew wider.

"No Doubt?" I ask.

"Are you going to repeat every word I say?" she laughs at me.

"Er, no," I said, embarrassed, but tried to recover myself by asking her, "What's your name anyway? I haven't seen you here before."  
"It's Jackie. Jackie Sonrisa." She sticks her hand out and shakes mine. I feel like a jolt of electricity has just passed through me when our fingers touch; like I just ran my hand into a live wire, or stuck a fork into an electrical outlet (which is a bad idea to do, let me tell you. Never, _ever_ stick anything metal into an electrical outlet, except, of course, a plug). I don't know if she felt it too, but when I look at Jackie's face, her eyebrows are up, here eyes widened like mad, and she and she swallowed hard, I noticed. How weird. I never felt that before.

"Sonrisa? Doesn't that mean "smile," in Spanish?" I ask her.

She blushed. I never thought I'd see a … well, someone with combat boots, and heavy eyeliner, blush.

"My dad's Spanish," she explains, like it's something to be embarrassed about.

"Well, I've never seen you here before," I ask, changing the topic she doesn't really seem like she wants to discuss.

"Well, I'm new."

I stared, dumbfounded, at her. Then burst, laughing. She started to laugh along with me, until Sister Ernestine yells across the room, telling us to keep quiet, and threatening to separate the two of us, if we don't shut up. I didn't want to leave Jackie because she seemed so interesting, so I shut up. She did too, but occasionally, we break into peals of laughter.

This went on until the end of detention. Finally, as we left, I ask her, "Can I listen to your C.D.? The song, 'New,' I mean?"

"You can listen to it here," she hands me her headphones. "But," she adds fiercely. "You can't borrow my C.D. No one borrows my No Doubt C.D.s."

"No doubt about that," I grumble. She laughs at my pun, and then smacks me on my left upper arm.

"Shut up, do you want to hear the song or not?" I keep quiet, and wear the head-phones. I notice that she sits down on the side walk, and starts looking around.

I pulled off the head-phones. I ask her inquisitively, "Why are you sitting down on the ground?"

She snorts, "I'm not going to _stand_ for three hours while I wait for my friend Loupe to pick me up."

"Three _hours_!?"

"That's how long it takes to get here from San Francisco, doesn't it?"

"You have to wait. For three hours. For your friend to drive you home," I said; my tone expressionless.

Jackie shrugged at me. "What else am I going to do?" she asked.

"It's called public transportation," I tell her.

"It's called being-broke-until- Mom's-next-paycheck," she retorts.

I stare at her, surprised. Coming from a family that, let's face it, has never had any financial problems, I never really had to think twice about transportation, or anything like that. I didn't realize how much people need money – if only to go to and from school, or something.

"You could ride a bike?" I ask softly, I already feel bad because of the situation Jackie's in.

She just laughed bitterly at that comment, "Yeah well, it'll take more than pedaling to go up the hill to my house."

What an idiot I was being! "You want a ride?" I jerk my thumb in the direction of my silver BMW convertible.

"I don't need your charity," she tells me. "I'm a tough girl," Jackie flexes her muscles, as if to show me that her strength came from brawn. But I know from experience that strength is more than just muscle; and that is the kind of strength Jackie seemed to have – the non-muscle kind I mean. Even though she did look like she could kick ass if she really needed to.

"All right, well, if you're sure…" said, backing away, with the portable C.D. player in my hands.

"Hey!" she cried out. I ignored her. "Hey wait!"

She stood up, and then started to run quickly after me. By that time I had reached the front door of my silver BMW. She said, breathing quickly from her semi-sprint. "Give me back my C.D. player and No Doubt C.D., you jerk - "

She reached for my hand that I had it in, but found out straight away that my hand was empty and it isn't there. I held both my hands up in an "I'm not armed" way.

"Where is it?" she circled me, and looked to see if I had it hidden behind my back or not, but to no avail.

She gave me the evil-eye.

I pointed into the car. She peered into my convertible. It was right there, on the passenger seat, where I had tossed the thing.

She gave sort of a low growl at me as I grinned, then brushed past me, and opened the door to the passenger seat.

Once she got into the car, I got behind the wheel and start the ignition. I closed my door. Jackie took her C.D. player and opened the thing. She stepped out of my car. Then, just as I thought she would, she yelled at me, "My C.D.'s not in here!"

I turned on the car's C.D. player, and Gwen Stefani's – the lead singer of No Doubt – voice is blared out of my car's wicked stereo system.

"If you want the C.D.," I yelled over the loud music I had turned up, "You've got to let me give you a ride."

I started backing out of the parking lot.

"Wait!" she screamed. I stopped the car, and raised one of my eyebrows up, questioning her.

She looked like the words taste bitter in her mouth. "Fine," she finally said. "I'll let you give me a ride." She opened up the passenger door, and slammed it after she got inside.

I grinned, happily.

Jackie sulked, and was annoyed about the whole thing. She kept her mouth shut during half of the car-ride to her home. Later, the track, "New," came on. She'd told me in detention that it was her favorite song on this C.D. I glanced at her.

"Go ahead and sing."

"Shut up and keep your eyes on the rode," she huffed.

I look back on the rode, and then look back at her again.

"You know you want to," I smile.

She growled and said, "I told you to shut _up_."

"Fine," I said. I ejected the C.D. and pretended to be about to throw it out of the car.

"_DON'T_!" she shrieked, and lurched at me, causing me to swerve the car on the rode. It was more than miraculous that I didn't run the BMW off the side of the rode, or into the hill-side.

"You're evil," she informed me.

I held both hands up quickly, "Did I ever say I wasn't?" Then I put my hands back onto the steering wheel.

Her eyes narrowed at me while I put the C.D. back into my car stereo. "Next time you do that - threaten to harm my C.D. - and I'm kicking your ass, little man. Got it?"

"Fine with me. So long as you sing," I smile 'sweetly' at her. Then I ask her, "Why's the C.D. so important to you, any way? It can't be because you're 'that much' of a hard-core No Doubt fan."

She mumbles something under her breath, but I can't hear her.

"What?"

"I said my dad gave it to me before he left us, alright?" she said swiftly, and her eyes held daggers, daring me to say something in return.

I remained silent.

"Listen, sorry about that," I started in a quiet way, after the awkward silence that pervaded. "And you don't have to sing if you don't want to."  
"No, it's okay. I will," but her gaze was wandering outside the side of the car.

_New_ came on again. She started singing quietly – humming, really. Then her voice grew stronger and stronger until she looked like she had went into the "Zone" where her eyes were closed, and she appeared to _become _part of the song – no, actually she _became_ the song. She was oblivious to the world around her.

I stared at her in astonishment. I couldn't tear my eyes off her. It was that magnificent. If _this _is how she got to a No Doubt song, imagine how she would sing Celine Dion's songs, or Mariah Carrey's, or even – you guessed it – Christina Aguilera's.

_"And I really gravity to your will… And you're not familiar/recently discovered, and I am learning about you/don't let it go away, the feeling has got to stay…Why am I so curious/This territory's dangerous…"_

It was breath-taking, truthfully (but I'll never admit it to any one, obviously). I was wondering why I was so keen on hearing her sing – I mean, it was a strange pull coming from deep inside of me. I guess, because, deep inside, I knew she was capable of singing pretty well. I knew she was holding back in detention because, in actuality, she didn't want to get in trouble with Sister Ernestine – a paradox, right? She acts as if she's tough and doesn't give a damn about it, but she really does. She didn't want to get into more trouble. I thought she might be able to really let go here, away from the detention hall restrictions. But I didn't even _imagine _how _beautifully _she could actually sing – the way she was singing right now – and it blew my mind away.

She didn't sing the rest of the songs like she did with "New." The others she just hummed to, or sang along to the chorus, but that was it. If I had hopes of her really going at it – singing the songs, I mean – I was destined for disappointment.

I drove her to her house, which was pretty shabby, but I didn't even get a decent "thank you" from her or anything. She seemed intent on getting herself – and her precious C.D. – out of my car and away from me.

When I mentioned the no "thank you" thing, she said, marching up the path to her house, waving back at me, without ever turning around, "You don't deserved any thank you's."

And with that, she went inside the house, and I drove off home.

A/N: Read and review, please, please, please, please, please, please?????


	2. I See Dead People

A/N: Thank you guys _so _much for the reviews! They were definitely encouraging, and made write more, sooner than I probably would have otherwise. Here is the next chapter, where things get more… interesting. Read to find out what happens.

Oh, and BTW: midnightskywanderer, I know Paul and Jesse wouldn't have been so buddy-buddy, but since, you know, he _does_ have the same power as Paul and Suze, I'd think it'd bee cool if he'd get to learn more about his craft along with Paul and Suze. But any way, that's just me.

So enjoy guys! Oh, and please R&R, thank you! :-)

* * *

Ch. 2: I SEE DEAD PEOPLE 

Did I expect anything different when I arrived to school the following morning? I don't know, maybe for Jackie to come up and say "Hi!" to me in the school halls? Not really. Well, okay, so sue me for expecting _some _recognition from her, but I got nothing. Not as much as a wave, or a smile, or even a, "Stay away from me, you Spawn-of-Satan Jerk!"

I would have even taken a dirty look from her – did that make me a little _more_ than desperate? Oh, by the way, guess what? I found out I had three different classes with Jackie Sonrisa and never even noticed her. That just goes to show that people see what they want – or don't want to see; and before, when I first moved here, I pretty much only wanted to see Suze. I didn't even notice Jackie until I was really _looking_ for her. I felt a little guilty for not really _seeing _her there before. Now, I was more than aware of where she was. There was only one problem: I guess Jackie didn't want to see _me_. Okay, she _literally_ saw me, but she seemed to look through me - like I was part of the wall or something. And that bothered me – a _lot_.

Would it seem too egotistical of me for saying that Jackie seemed to go out of her way to ignore me? Ego aside, I think that's what she was trying to do.

_Why?_ I asked myself more than once during the day. I wanted to ask her myself the exact same question, but, I'm ashamed to admit, I was afraid if I _did_ approach her and talked to her, she'd blatantly pretend she didn't hear me. And I didn't think I could stand such obvious ignoring.

Well, whatever. I tried to brush it off. I mean, who cared?

Okay, so _I _cared. It didn't mean I had to show it, and let her know she was getting to me. No one, ever, I mean, got to me. Why her? It wasn't making any sense to me.

* * *

It was later that night. Jesse, Suze, and I, along with Father Dominic, were trying to mediate five particularly ticked off ex-veteran soldiers. Who just happened to be dead, by the way. Yeah, yeah, we can see dead people. Don't act as if you're surprised. 

And we weren't having the best of luck with them. In fact – even though I wouldn't be the first one to admit it – it was going quite the opposite. I noticed Father Dominic – the priest – whip out his cell phone that he had purchased a while back in December. I managed to duck another chunk of the benches in the basilica, and thought, _who the hell could this guy be calling at _this _hour? _Right when we were dogging pieces of the basilica that happened to be flying at all three of us, I mean.

Five minutes later, I heard footsteps and panting. I panicked. Who would be running into the church at this time of the night – besides us four, and five very pissed-off ghosts I mean?

Out of the shadows, I noticed, emerged…

Jackie?!

My attention was on Jackie, and I unfortunately wasn't paying attention to the splinters of railing headed directly at my torso. But I managed to turn just in time to avoid what might have possibly been an extremely painful collision.

I can't say I didn't mind having my attention distracted by Jackie. And I can't say I didn't appreciate the sight her mini leather skirt gave of her very long, very tan, very beautiful legs.

"I-I came as soon as I could, Father Dominic," she was breathing very heavily, like she just ran, or bicycled a long distance. Then she looked up and saw all four of us. "What are they doing here?"

She then spotted me. Her eyes narrowed.

"_You_," she said almost vehemently.

"Nice to see you again, too," I half-waved and smiled.

"Don't ever speak to me again, you hear?" she said roughly. She then settled into business. Jackie was wearing – besides the black leather mini skirt, I mean – brass knuckles on her hand, and was carrying a heavy wooden baseball bat. Whoa.

"Let's get the party started, _chicos_ (_guys_ A/N: I'll put Spanish translations, for those who don't know how to speak it, in parenthesis next to the word)," and proceeded to, ahem, do so.

Jackie fought dirty. Not in a bad way. Ghosts can fight dirty too – and most of the time, do, Suze once told me – so I wasn't arguing. Plus, I grinned on the inside; if I had learned to, I would have fought dirty against the ghosts as well.

With another person on our side – making it five on five, which was fair in my book – we managed to… persuade the ticked-off veterans to move on to the next side.

"So," I said conversationally to Jackie after we finished the whole thing, "You didn't mention that we happened to share the special gift of… well, you know… last time we chatted." Even though we didn't really chat; it was more like me blackmailing (I like to use the term, "_persuading_." Besides, she needed a ride, and there was no other way to get over her pride and attitude of, "I don't need anyone's help.") her to give her a ride home.

She glared at me in response, and stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then she finally said, "Didn't know you cared."

Ouch. I didn't want her to know that I _cared _about her, or anything. Did I care for her? Besides, it would just give her something to poke fun at me about.

I acted like I didn't matter at all, "I don't care. It's just, you _could _have told me. And I said I was sorry about the whole C.D.-stealing/throwing-out-the-window thing."

"Secondly," she informed me. "How the hell was I supposed to know that you 'see dead people' too? Don't blame _me _for not telling you. In fact, why didn't _you _tell _me_?"

"Stop fighting, you guys," Suze came between us. "You two aren't making any sense. Paul, have you met Jackie?"

"Yeah," I tell her.

"Children," Father Dominic came. He was dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. "It makes me so _pleased_ to know all four of you are working together and saving lost souls. It is an indeed inspiring thing." Had he even been _listening_ to the conversation Jackie and I were having? "But Jacqueline," He looked down, sternly. "I don't really agree, nor like, your style of … mediation. I told Susannah that long time ago as well. I don't know what they teach you in the city - you and Susannah both come from major cities, you know – but it's not what I'd like to see from you."  
Jackie looked at Suze. "Are you from LA?"

Suze said, "No, but I came from Brooklyn. Are you from LA?"

"Yeah," Jackie gave a nostalgic smile. "Lakers, baby," she then whooped.

"So what are we going to tell every one, Father D?" Suze asked.

Father D sighed wearily, and ran his fingers over his saggy eyes. "I don't know, but I'm sure I'll figure it out in the morning. You four should get home now. I know your parents must be so worried about you."

_Yeah right_, I thought.

Jackie snorted.

"I doubt it," Suze informed the Father.

Jesse didn't have his parents around any more – and besides he was legally an adult so I didn't matter to him. He sighed and said, "I have classes in the morning, though." Medical school was very rough on him.

"That's right, Jesse. You all have school tomorrow, so go. I'll take care of this. Do you all have rides?"

Ah. The ever parental-side of the good Father.

Suze jerked her thumb to her boyfriend, "Jesse's driving me home."

"I got my car," I informed them.

"Jackie?" Father Dom asked her.

She blushed. That's right; she blushed again. She looked so cute while doing that, it made me think, if she weren't the heavy-eyeliner, tough-girl that she was. If she were more preppy, and dressed more like, well, Kelly Prescott, would I have ever liked her? Asked her out? Fallen in love with her? The last thought startled me. Love. That was like some crazy, farfetched, romantic dream. I shook my head to clear it from these thoughts that lead into dangerous territory for me.

Jackie muttered something. As we went outside, I saw why she was hesitant to answer the Father's question.

There stood a pink bicycle, with those ribbons coming out of the sides of the handle-bars, and it had a ringing bell on it, no doubt about it. It looked like it belonged to a five-year-old.

We all stood in astonished silence. "It belonged to my neighbor's kid…" Jackie began explaining embarrassed.

"Are you telling me you stole this bicycle? From your neighbor's _child_? You stole a bicycle from a _child_?" Father Dom said in horror and reprimanded.

"See, you told me it was emergency…" Jackie said, excruciatingly embarrassed.

"I thought you told me you couldn't pedal up the hill to your house?" I accused her angrily. Had she lied to me?

"I said I couldn't pedal _up _the hill _to _my house. I didn't say I couldn't pedal _down_ the hill, going to the basilica."

"So what was your plan for getting home?" I demanded to her.

She shrugged, "I didn't have a plan. I'd just manage, and figure something out."

"Figure something out?" I say furiously. Had the girl no fore-sight? A wave of protectiveness toward her I couldn't explain came over me. "That's it. I'm taking you home. Get into the car," I gesture, my thumb in the direction of where I parked the car.

She looked up at me, with her eyes afire. "Since when did you become the boss of me?"

"Since you started not thinking ahead of time!" I yelled. "Who leaves their house, and doesn't consider how she's going to get back?! So get into the car, or I'll carry you in there myself."

"You wouldn't _dare_," Jackie hissed at me.

"Children, children, please! Calm down; I'm sure we'll settle this," Father Dom said nervously. How could the guy be able to persuade five murderous ghosts a minute ago, and then not handle two people arguing? Maybe he was feeling really worn down after the first conflict. I don't blame him for being exhausted already. Jesse and Suze had left ages ago. Then again, Jackie and I were in a world of our own, while arguing, and were oblivious to Father Dominic and everything else around us.

"Oh wouldn't I?" I cocked one eyebrow up, in response to Jackie. Then before she knew it, I swooped down, and picked her up, and started to carry her.

"Let me go!" she shrilled, screamed, kicked her legs, and punched me with her flailing arms. But I was carrying her in the "husband carrying a wife over the threshold" kind of way, and so she couldn't really be able to hit me really hard.

Or maybe she did, and I didn't notice, because I was a man with a mission. And Jackie was going to let me take her home whether she liked it or not. By the time I got her to the car, she'd given up, and stayed quiet during the car trip home. There was no No Doubt to fill the night's silence, and I didn't turn on the radio because I just didn't feel like listening to any music right now.

I dropped her off. She didn't say a thank you or anything and walked up the steps into her house.

"Until next time," I informed her weakly, as she went in, but then drove off into the night to go home.

That night, I couldn't sleep again. _Why?_ I thought about Jackie too much for my peace of mind, I had realized. It was crazy. _Why did I think about her so much?_

Kelly. You didn't think she'd disappear entirely did you?

No, to my chagrin, she did not fall off the map, disappear, or get abducted by aliens.

_But_, on the bright side, her calls were getting less and less frequent. Did she get tried of me? No, it wasn't that easy. It was because Suze's brother, Brad Ackerman, asked her out for coffee. I mentioned it to Suze, who laughed and informed me, "I told Brad he'd get two weeks off from washing the dishes if he asked Kelly out. He was more than happy to oblige – and I don't think it had to do with the dish-washing."

With that, I walked down to where I knew Jackie had her last class of the day. Jackie eyed me warily.

"Relax," I told her. "I'm just here to give you a ride home from school; so come on. Let's go."  
Jackie sighed. In an exhausted voice, she informed me, "How many times must we go through this until you get it through your thick skull: I. Don't. Need. Your. Char-i-ty." She pronounced the word, "charity" in its individual syllables. "Got it?" she told me.

I smiled. "This isn't charity. I'm giving a friend a ride home from school." The words that came out of my mouth both startled and amazed me. Friend? Since when had I started thinking of Jackie as my friend? I don't know, but some how, for the moment that seemed about right. Friend. Okay, then. "So let's go."

I grabbed her hand, and started to half pull, half drag her to my car. The familiar jolt of electricity that I felt in detention when I held her hand sparked and danced about in my palm and fingers. I didn't – couldn't – look at her face to see what she was thinking and feeling. But she must have, _must _have felt it. No one could ignore something so… I don't know, magical.

I just did not think of that word. No I didn't. Paul Slater using the word magical… I didn't, _couldn't_ have thought of that word. I automatically ran my free hand through my curly, thick brown hair.

* * *

JACKIE

(A/N: the name in bold letters means it's from his – or her – point of view. It'll either be Paul of Jackie's point of view.)

Paul grabbed my hand and started to drag me to his silvery BMW convertible. You didn't see any cars like this back were I come from. In the 'hood,' I mean. In LA, we had to rough things out.

Sure, we were pretty rich back when I was growing up. We lived in the city of Bell Air – you know, where the show, _Fresh Prince of Bell Air _"took place" in. We were living on high rollers then. Or at least I think we did, from what I can remember. I was only seven, when Dad left without a single goodbye – and that was just a faded memory in itself. Mom was forced to move to LA. Correction: the _bad _side of LA, in East LA…

Away, when Paul grabbed my hand, something weird happened, like my skin reacted – in a good way, I guess – to him, and my hand felt all strange. You know when a part of your body falls asleep, like a foot or your arm or something? And then it feels all tingly? Well, imagine that magnified by a hundred. That's how it felt like.

I yielded – again – and got into the car. The first time I let Paul take me home, I turned in blinding rage, and didn't know what I was doing. The second time, he carried me. That wasn't my fault, technically. And plus I promised Father Dominic to return the bike today to Brittany, my neighbor's daughter, who by the way felt so sad when she realized her bike was "lost", guilt struck me like a blow to the stomach (something which I _have_ experienced before). I shouldn't have been surprised Paul could carry me; I was just surprised that he _did_. I mean, Paul is not on the scrawny side by _any _stretch of the imagination. Paul was _hot_, and even _I _wasn't immune to his good looks. But why should he know that? It's not like he likes me or anything like that.

We drove down the scenic way to my house – even though when we reached my neighborhood, it was anything _but _scenic.

Paul parked the car. We had just been exchanging opinions on that one mashing-up thing, where the band, Linkin Park, and rapper Jay-Z did a sort of 'duet' and remixed their songs.

Paul liked it. I thought it was a bit weird, and it took some getting used to, but I guess I could appreciate art, and that they were mashing two totally different genres of music to make the songs.

It was all a business, Paul informed me. In his opinion, it was another way for MTV to make money: besides, both Linkin Park and Jay-Z fans would by the C.D., so it was their way of doubling up their profits.

Well, whatever. I was going to get out of the car, then suddenly stopped, and turned to Paul.

"Listen," I began. It was kind of hard for me to say this; and the fact that I owed any one like _Paul_ a thank you wasn't sitting too well with me. So, uncomfortably, I told him, "I just wanted to say: thanks. For the ride – _rides_. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

I waited him to say something. Anything; like, "About time," or give me some sort of self-satisfied sneer.

He remained quiet, but his eyes ran over my face. It was kind of scaring me. Any response was better than this – _this_ that made me feel like squirming in my seat. And _then_, the worst – or should I say best? – part of it all, he started to lean. That's right: he started to lean towards me like he was – _oh my God!_ He _was _going to kiss me! This scared me more than facing seven angry ghosts – back in East LA – at a secluded alley-way.

I didn't know if I was more scared of what I'd _do _if he started kissing me – would I kiss him as badly back? Or if I felt more excited that Paul wanted to kiss _me_ – Paul, who'd just broken up with Kelly Prescott: the most popular girl in the school. I was also having a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach at the idea that I might actually like him.

I'd never felt that way about any one. So I did what any reasonable girl would do: I smiled, and said, "Well, nice seeing you. Bye Paul!" in a rush, and GOT OUT OF THERE as quickly as two human legs could possibly run.

When I got inside and was safely behind my front door, I exhaled loudly out. _What was _that _all about?_


	3. The Weekend

Ch. 3 THE WEEKEND

JACKIE

"Su – _Suze_!" I sputtered while I tried to avoid her wand of lip gloss that she was threatening to apply on me.

Suze, who, after promptly getting fed up with my ducking and dodging, firmly grabbed my face by the chin, said, "Hold still." She then proceeded to put that _stuff_ all over my lips, on which she had already applied lipstick and lip-liner to.

Yes. How the hell did I agree to this in the first place? Oh, yeah. Sister Ernestine impressed upon me the importance of looking up to their "school standards." Apparently, my look hadn't been "up to school standards." Did I really care if I was or wasn't looking acceptable for the Sister? Not particularly. But since I had no desire to spend the rest of my high school career having detention after school, I enlisted Suze – who always seemed to look impeccably dressed – and Cee Cee to help a girl out here.

And what'd I get? A make over - apparently, Suze felt a make over was called for; either that, or she just simply was itching to give me one.

Whatever.

The two of them had taken me shopping – where I expressly declined their offers to pay for some of my shopping expenses. We didn't go to the mall, which surprised me, but Suze informed me of her distaste in the mall – any mall, actually, which tended to give her a sensory overload. So instead we stuck to other stores. Which meant driving around, but Suze didn't mind.

Soon they all got me clothes that seemed to come straight out of Abercrombie and Fitch – and some clothes _did _come from Abercrombie and Fitch. In fact, my potential wardrobe was starting to look like – perish the thought – Kelly Prescott's wardrobe.

"That's what they _want_," Cee Cee said, disgustedly, but thank God that the two of them acknowledged that I was right, so they went easy on me, and let me pick out some clothes that were more of _my _style, along with the clothes that were the – _ew_ – Kelly-ish style.

They even let me go to Hot Topic – a punk and rock 'n roll store, where I practically _live_ – and purchase some … _less _extreme clothes that I liked.

However, I was astonished what a little pastel, white, and some other colors could do for me, in my otherwise diverse outfits of black on black. And Suze was some bargain hunter. I never thought I'd see the word, "Sale" so many times on a single receipt in my life.

Now, Suze seemed intent on wiping away my black eyeliner and such. Even though the make-up she smeared on me was more than I usually wear, I supremely doubted that it was going to make any difference on me – I wouldn't know, seeing as how the two of them insistently did not let me come near any mirrors until they were absolutely done.

"Are you done yet?" I pretended to growl in irritation. Actually, I was having fun doing this whole "girly" thing (but if you tell my girlfriends back in the 'hood I said this, they will torment me with the rest of my life). It was out of pride that I fake annoyance, you know? A girl's gotta keep her rep.

"Al… most…" said Suze, and with a flourish of her make-up brush, she announced, "Ta-da!"

Cee Cee brought out a mirror for me to look at myself with. _Okay,_ I thought to myself. _So what if they probably did a bad job? I'll just pretend I like it. Besides, we all had a good time, and I'm really glad I came with them_.

But when I peered into the mirror, I was silenced with astonishment.

This- this can't be _me_… can it…?

Suze and Cee Cee had satisfied smiles on their faces, but I couldn't for the life of me care, because…

… because I was beautiful.

That's right. _Mi papa_ always told me, when I was a little girl, that I was the most beautiful person in the world. That the stars had rained down on my hair and that my eyes were like two dark dew drops. But did I ever believe him? Never until this very moment.

"I – I - " was my stuttered reply.

"You're welcome," Suze said, with a grin on her face.

When I came home, my mother dropped the pot she was drying in the kitchen.

"_Mi hija _(my daughter)"

The pot fell with a loud clang on the tiled floor. She promptly picked it up, but continued to stare at me.

I tried to play it cool, of course. "Hey, Mom," I nodded, and then started to head upstairs to my bedroom.

"Stop right there, young lady," Her firm voice made my feet come to a halt. Mom's voice had that kind of command over me – and anyone else, for that matter. I shuffled over back to her in the kitchen.

Mom's eyes were looking at me, affectionately.

"No, Mom, I have not given up my 'Punk Phase,' so you can forget keeping this," I gruffly told her.

Her eyes went serious. "_Hija_, when will you get over this stupid thing? Just because your father gave you those music tapes - "

" – They're _C.D.'s_, Mom. C.D.s."

"C.D.s, B.D.s, it does not matter. No woman walks around wearing black around her eyes like she just had been in a boxing match."

"_Mom_," I groan. "Don't you remember Gabbie, and Alejandro, and Marta back at home? You know all _mi amigas _(my friends) wore that, too."

"Humph. We're here to make a new start, _hija_," Mom said firmly. "And that means getting rid of black eyes."

"Whatever, Mom. Fine," I appeased her for the moment. I didn't feel like fighting my mom right now.

"Now," she smiled again, in "that way." "You look so beautiful, darling." Mom stroked my hair. I smiled back at her. I kind of liked this look, too – not the way I like my old look, but in a different way. This was nice, too.

"Mom, did you always think I looked beautiful?" I know I sounded like a simpering little girl in need of an ego-boost, but I _had _to know.

"Jackie, you _always _were beautiful. You can dress a swan in crow feathers, but she will always be a swan."

I groaned at that metaphor, but I still smiled happily at her.

Then I leaned forward and hugged her. "I love you, Mom."

PAUL

I bought the No Doubt C.D. over the weekend. As I was about to pull up to the drive way, I saw a sight that sent my pulse up erratically. An ambulance.

_Oh my God_! I thought, as I dashed into the house, absent-mindedly leaving the parked, but still running.

The medic guys were all over the house. Gramps was strapped to one of those emergency tables.

"One – two – three. _Clear_!"

_Shit_.

The medic was trying to get Gramps's heart to start up again.

Not this… not again…


	4. In The Hospital

Ch. 4: IN THE HOSPITAL

PAUL

Ever know someone who was just about died? It's rather a harrowing experience. And my Gramps almost did. Things like that just make you want to cherish life for a moment or two more than you did before the experience.

And on top of it, Gramps and I were just getting to know each other better, too. That's why I spent the night at the hospital. And that's why, when I looked into the mirror in the following morning, I noticed lines of worry under my eyes and darkened shadows, aided by the lack of sleep I had.

I didn't know who to call. Who to tell what just happened. Mom and Dad? They don't even care, I grimaced in disgust. Suze? Jesse? I didn't want to bother them. Jackie? _Hell, this wasn't her problem. It's mine and mine alone_.

That's why, as the nurses left, and those who had night-shift came in to the hospital, I was all alone, holding Gramps's fragile, wrinkled and liver-spotted hand.

That's why, when the nurse came in the second morning that I was here, and said, "Mr. Slater?" with sympathy. "I understand that you are concerned about your grandfather, and I understand that you didn't want to go to school today. Do you need me to write a note for you?"

I lifted up my weary, tired eyes, "What?"  
"Today's Monday."

_Shit_. I'd forgotten all about the days of the week. I had forgotten about anything that had existed outside of this hospital. The entire weekend had just _seemed_ to mesh into one blurry, horrible day. But now it was Monday. "Yeah," I said. I mean, what else _could _I say?

She thankful left after that to get me a note.

JACKIE

"Where's Paul?" I tried to act nonchalant. Those words had been on the tip of my tongue all day. It felt great to finally voice my thoughts to Suze in the last period of the day.

"I don't know," she told me. So I forced myself _not _to slump down in the seat from disappointment.

_Who else would know,_ I thought. I was itching to find out what happened to the guy. Can you blame me if I missed the dolt? But I pacified – or at least, _attempted _to pacify myself – thinking: he's probably sick or something. People are absent all the time.

But, see? There was this nagging feeling in the back of my head telling my something was wrong. Very wrong. He didn't look anything besides glowing-with-health the last time he dropped me off at home.

At the last resort I found myself walking in the direction of the main office, to see the attendance office. _What am I doing_? I thought. This was beyond strange. When was the last time I went to the attendance office to check whether the guy I liked – all right, who I thought was an okay guy - was not dead or dying at this moment?

Um, how about never?

I couldn't do it. I shouldn't, _couldn't _do it.

I did. "Um, Ms. -" I looked at the desk name-tag " – Baker? I'm… ah… a _friend_… yeah. I'm a friend of Paul Slater, and he wasn't here today. You, um, think… um…"

God, was I the worst at lying or what?

"See, I was wondering if he was alright?"

Was that lame or what? And I doubt she believed me, so as I was about to turn around and walk away, she said, "Ah, Mr. Slater? He's in the hospital today."

"_What!_" Alarm rippled through my voice. Alarm, which, to my utter chagrin, that coursed through my body like an electric pulse.

Ms. Baker, the Bearer of Bad News, as I was starting to think of her, gave me a sympathetic smile. "Not him, Miss. His guardian – his grandfather, Dr. Slaski – had to be rushed to the E.R."

I began to feel my breathing start up once more. I didn't realize I had held my breath. I exhaled in relief.

Then I felt a pang of guilt inside of me. I was glad that his grandfather was sick and not Paul himself?

"I mean," I said, once I regained my composure. "I'm so sorry."

Then I turned around and walked away. Okay, now what? So I found out that he was okay. What difference did it make?

All the difference in the world, I realized. The question I faced with now was what was I going to do about it? I mean, what do I do? Send Paul one of those cheesy Hallmark cards that they advertise on TV? That had a picture of a bird all by itself on it, and it said, "So sorry…" followed by a crappy, sentimental poem in it? I think not.

I caught up with Suze after that.

"Simon," I said, "I need a ride to the hospital."

"Are you okay?" She looked at me in a rush, with real concern.

"Yeah. I got to visit some one."

While Suze drove me to the hospital, I filled her in on the details I found out from Ms. Baker.

She was concerned, and told me that she understood why I needed to see Paul so badly. The funny thing was, _she _understood why, but I didn't. So what if his grandfather was in the hospital? Well, okay, Paul would feel pretty bad. It would matter to _him_ that much I know.

When it came to Paul, I didn't understand what happened to me. I went all crazy; I did things, and I didn't know _why_ I was doing them.

Geez, I was taking, "Know Thyself" to a whole other level.

When we went to the front desk of the hospital, the lady up front asked for the name…  
Slater? ... Slacky…? What had Ms. Baker told me was his last name?

"Slaski," Suze informed the secretary. I was glad she was here. Suze wanted to see Mr. Slaski too. Told me he was a friend of hers.

"Room 57 A; down the corridor, take a left, second door on your right."

And there they were – Paul and his grandfather, I mean – in room 57 A. Impulsively, I rushed over to Paul and hugged him. "You worried me you poor bastard!" I cried with – oh my God – affection.

Paul seemed surprised – so was I – at what I did, but he hugged me back. Then it finished as quickly as it started: I stepped back with embarrassment and horror at what I had just done. I had hugged Paul Slater. And I didn't feel a lick of guilt.

"We heard what happened," Suze said. She didn't seem to notice anything wrong, or awkward about me hugging Paul.

"Yeah," said Paul, wearily, as he ran his hands over his face. He looked so tired. That's when I noticed the bags under his eyes; Paul was pale and exhausted.

"Listen, do you need me to grab a cup of coffee for you from the caf?" asked Suze. "You look like you could use one."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Want one, too, Jackie?"

"Nah, it's okay. I'm good."

Paul sat back down in one of the visitor's chairs. "How's your grandfather?" I asked, hushed.

"I don't know," Paul said with a strain in his voice.

"And how are you?"  
Paul looked up at me. "Better, since you came in here."

Then I realized my outfit. I'd gone "Kelly" today.

"Hey, I didn't dress up for you," I told him sourly. "The school made me."

"Is that so? Then I'm glad they did," he grinned behind his tired eyes.

I laughed outright. "Shut up. Enjoy it while it lasts. I'm not planning on keeping this look, not by a long shot." Actually, I was; a little bit, anyway. But Paul didn't need to know that.

Suddenly, he said, "He's one of us. My grandfather, I mean. He – he has the same 'gift' that Suze, Jesse, you and me share."

"I didn't know."

"And if – if he … _dies_," Paul said the words like he'd just swallowed something really sour.

"He's not going to die," I told him firmly.

He took me by the hand – a purely impulsive thing, but I think it made him feel better. We all need a hand to hold sometimes, I realized.

Suze's boyfriend, Jesse something-or-another, came by too, to visit Dr. Slaski. Eventually, it was time to go. I asked Paul, "You think you're going to be okay?"  
"I'll manage."

I didn't know what I could say or do to make him feel better. But I managed to give him a half-smile, and left.

PAUL

They were gone. And the hospital staff informed me there was nothing more I could do. They had let me stay the night twice, but now that grandpa had been taken out of ICU – Intensive Care Unit – and put into the regular part of hospital, they saw no reason for me to stay.

But… all alone. The house had never felt as barren as it did that night when I came home from the hospital. All the lights were turned off, as if a black out had been rolling along in the neighborhood. It was cold, and I would have called it spooky, but ghosts don't scare me. It was too ironic.

I heard my footsteps loudly echo throughout the entire house, as I walked across the titled hallway and into my bedroom.

Then I went to bed. What else was there to do, you know?


	5. I Still Believe

DISCLAIMER: No, I do not own the song, "I Still Believe," that is sung by Mariah Carey. But it is a great song, and that woman has a wonderful voice. Ditto goes to the No Doubt song and it's lyrics, "New."

A/N: Okay, I know, I know. You groan: _another_ author's note? Yes, another one. But this time, I just want to thank every one who has given me review so far! I really appreciate it. That's all I wanted to mention. That's all. Enjoy this chapter.:-) P.S. – An announcement: I'll have a new chapter up every weekend (or two chapters, if I really get some homework done and out of the way), so you can look for them then.

* * *

I STILL BELIEVE  
JACKIE

"I think we should celebrate."  
"What? The fact that I haven't run away from you for the past three weeks?" I gave Paul a wryly grin, while we were in our history class.

He quirked one of his eyebrows up, and then gave me a smirk, "No, Ms. Act-So-Tough –"

"So you think you got me all figured out, have you?" I retorted.

"Yes, in fact, I do," he said right back at me.

"Oh, that's it! – " I lurched forward and was going to give him a verbal butt-kicking, so to speak, but Paul held up his hands in a "hold up!" sort of way.

"Okay, okay. Listen. Before we go down the path of argument _again_, let me just finish. I wanted to ask you to dinner to celebrate my Gramps's recovery."

"Why Paul Slater," I said in the teasing fashion. "Are you asking me out on a _date_?"

He quirked up his eyebrows in that infuriating way again, but only commented, "You said it, not me."

"And this is because…?" I threw the question up in the air.

He gave me the, "are you _serious?_" look. Then he said, "Um, maybe because you came with me every day to visit my grandpa at the hospital after school, for the past three weeks?"

"Well that's-that's just because you gave me a ride home." I said, hurriedly, trying to give an excuse for my constant presence. "I mean, and if you went to hospital, I should have to come too, am I right?"

"Well…" he said slowly. "That's true… but the fact that you _refused_ to let me drop you off first, and _then_ go to the hospital by myself…" Okay. So he noticed I wanted to come with him to hospital. Did that mean he noticed that I liked him, too? Because that's how I realized I felt. Every day, I just seemed to like him more and more… And I didn't know if I wanted that or not. And I most _certainly_ didn't want to _show_. Unless …

"Any – any way," I tried to change the subject. "About this _date_ thing –"

"– if that's what you want to call it…" he shrugged casually, as if _he _wouldn't call it a date.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. But are you sure this… ah, 'celebration,' are you _sure_ it doesn't have any ulterior motives on your behalf, Paul?" I said, suggesting that this wasn't for "celebrating" purposes only. I'd just like to know for a fact _exactly_ _what _it was, and get it over with. It's better than fidgeting about it all throughout the evening, wondering: _"Is this a date?" _or_ "Are we just friends_?" – among a number of other painful thoughts.

I was, however, destined for disappointment; Paul, with his bright blue eyes gazing into mine, drawled, "You'll just have to wait and find out."

Fine; so be it. I would accept his answer for now. But it didn't mean I was happy with it. I wanted to know what this whole thing was, in significance to our friendship. What did Paul have in mind? It drove me crazy, in case you were wondering. It was like, you know when you have an itch on your back you couldn't reach, and the fact that you couldn't scratch it made it itch even _more_, and it drove you _nuts_ until –

"Get down here, Jackie! This boy, Paul Slater, is waiting for you down stairs!" My mother yelled for me to hurry. It was finally Friday, at seven. Paul had come to pick me up.

"It a minute!" I had to shout back.

While trying to slip on my boot, I tripped. I had to hold on to my "vanity" – I use this term loosely for a dresser that has a mirror hanging on the wall directly above it – but I didn't get a good hold, and knocked down all my glosses, eye-shadow, and eyeliner (that Suze helped me pick out for my "date"), which rolled off it and tumbled to the ground.

I said a colorful four-letter word under my breath that sounded like "shoot," and then tried to quickly pick them up, and stuff them in my matching clutch.

Was it just me, or was everything just going wrong so far? It was all because I was nervous about the whole thing. I had tried on at least every outfit in my closet – which was now empty because I had thrown everything I tried on onto my bed. Finally, I settled for a cool blue, silky camisole, with a lacy black buttoning-up blouse over the thing. My skirt was denim, and came knee-high. I was also wearing black high-heeled boots that met my skirt at my knee. A false rose was pinned in my hair, and I officially looked the part of a poster-child from _Teen People _magazine. But I must admit: I looked _good_.

That, I hoped, was an omen that the rest of the evening will turn out okay, at least.

I brushed my fly-away hair with my hands. Then I took a breath. Okay. This is it. Time to prove my worth to Paul Slater. I felt like I was going in front of a firing squad. And the worst part about it was: Paul made it absolutely unclear if this thing was us going "just as friends" or… as more than friends.

I tried to ignore my staggering, drumming pulse, and shallow breathing. I rushed down the stairs, and found Paul sitting comfortably on our couch, waiting. I slowed my walking pace, and then confidently strode in the living room. My mom announced me: "Here she is. Jackie, your boyfriend is here."

My face turned beat red. I mumbled something that when along the lines of, "He's not my boyfriend, _mamá_."

When I came in, Paul's face turned into a dumbstruck look. As if he was thinking I'd come in fishnets and a Nirvana t-shirt. Hello? I'm wise enough to know you just _don't_ wear those kinds of clothes when you go on a date. Obviously. He then sort of shook his head, as if to get out of the trance with which he was looking at me with.

"Yes, nice meeting you, Mrs. Sonrisa," Paul rose and shook my mother's hand. I didn't make any sign that he noticed my mother called him my boyfriend. Oh my God. I could just die of embarrassment right then and there.

"Likewise, young man. Just have her home by eleven, that's all I ask."

I wanted to get Paul away from my mom as fast as possible, before she embarrassed her "baby" even more.

I groaned. "_Mom_, we got to get going. Come on, Paul," I tugged him by the crook of his arm, trying to get him – and myself – out of there as fast as I could…

"All right, _hija_; have fun."

"I will, I will Mom. Let's go, Paul."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Sonrisa," Paul yelled back, as I was dragging him out our front door. "I'll have her home by eleven."

Finally I got him to his silver BMW, which was reflecting the moonlight in the inky evening. I let my self exhale, exasperatedly.

Something must have seemed very amusing to Paul, because _I _didn't find anything to smile about just then. But he was smiling like that at me, so I guess I was missing the joke.

"All right." I faced him. "Where are we going?"

We had gotten in the car, and Paul was already starting the engine. The stars were out and winking brightly. A cool breeze was rustling through the trees in my neighborhood. It was a very chilly evening, and I was hoping Paul would put the top back on the convertible, because otherwise, I just might end up dying of pneumonia after this "date."

Paul's smile turned to a mischievous grin and said, "How does Karaoke sound?"  
I groaned, and punched Paul in the upper arm lightly. I remembered the first day we met, and he was so intent on letting me get a ride home, and I started to sing to No Doubt's song, "New." What a crazy day that was; and now here we are. And I wasn't sure exactly _what _we were (a couple? Friends? We were certainly not just acquaintances any more. Right? So what were we now?), but whatever we were, I had this strange feeling about him. I actually _cared_. About a boy. About a boy I knew was so different than me. But still so alike in more ways that I cared to think about.

I looked at him. He was wearing a deep blue dress shirt – blue that matched his blue irises so well, it hurt to look at him directly in the eyes - with the top two buttons undone. The wind disheveled his curly sun-streaked hair. And his pants, which where dressy, too, fit him well, I'm sure, once he stood up, and I had a chance to… um, _inspect_.

If Paul was every anything, he was hot. But now he wasn't _just_ hot, I knew. He cared a lot about his grandfather and about learning how to shift. He loved tennis, and vanilla and chocolate swirl ice cream, and he bought a No Doubt C.D. for himself – that showed his good taste in music, of course.

And when I talked, he really wanted to hear what I had to say – unlike some _other _guys I new back in East L.A.

And he dumped Kelly Prescott, which showed that he had really good taste in women too. But did Paul like me in a different sort of way than he let on? I didn't know, but I was hoping this evening would prove me right – okay, prove my _hopes_ right.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked me. "You sure are quiet tonight."

I blushed for, what, the third time this evening? But it was dark enough right now for him not to have noticed. "I-I just was thinking about…" I racked my brains for a topic to possibly be preoccupied with. "I just was thinking about your grandfather. And if he was all right, now."

Paul balked at me, astonished. 'Wow. Thanks, I mean, for caring about the guy," he informed me, "I do too, but… it makes a guy think you're more interested in his grandfather than in him."

I threw my head back and laughed. Paul gave me a smile; then asked nervously, "You don't, do you? Care about my grandpa more than you care about me, I mean?"

"Of course not!" I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then instantly wished I kept my mouth shut. What had I just _said_? "I-I mean," I tried to cover up. "I think you're grandpa's a great man, and everything. And, you're not so bad yourself."

Was it just me, or did Paul seem disappointed. A guy who had everything – anything and everything money could supply, at least, I knew – what did he have to be disappointed about?

"So," Paul cleared his throat. "Anyway, you look really nice tonight."

"Thanks," I said quietly. And I really meant it. "And you look really…" What do you say to a guy? Handsome? Good looking? Certainly _not_ "hot." I knew that, at least. "… good, too." Phew. I found a word I could actually say out-loud to his face.

"Thanks," he beamed.

We pulled up to a club, where music was blaring out so loud I could hear it from way outside. It was techno, I guess, or something like that any way.

Paul came around the car, and opened my door for me. I was way impressed. So they _do_ have gentlemen around here in Carmel.

The club allowed for people under eighteen, which was a relief as I was (under eighteen), and I didn't have to figure out a way to get past the bouncer in the front door. We got inside, and I noticed they said, "Karaoke Nite" up on the front stage.

"You don't have to sing right now if you don't feel like it," Paul yelled over the music, into my ear.

I nodded, numb and nervous. I had never actually performed in front of a huge crowd before, and trust me, the whole club was jam-packed to the max limit.

"Thanks," I finally managed to force my lips to say.

"Come on, let's grab a table," Paul took my hand, and led me to one of the few empty tables. We sat down and Paul asked me if I wanted anything to eat. I shook my head, no.

"Explain to me why we're here, again?" I asked Paul, but he was bending over and getting something out of a bag that he had on the floor. I vaguely remembered him bringing it to the club with us. "Well?"  
He didn't pay much heed to my questioning, because he was holding in front of me a wrapped, thin square that seemed to hold the semblance of a C.D. "What's this?" I asked.

He handed it to me. With a nod of his head towards the gift, he said, "Open it and see."

The curiosity got the best of me, and I excitedly tore away the wrapping paper to reveal a – surprise, surprise – a C.D. The cover read, _Gwen Stefani: Love. Angel. Music. Baby._

I shrieked with delight, and I saw a glad smile defuse over Paul's face. "Oh my gosh! You did not – did _not _buy me this C.D.! Thank you! Thank you so much! Oh my gosh!" I wanted to hug him so badly. I flung my arms around his neck. It wasn't the first time I hugged him; that's why it wasn't as much of a big deal. This was, however, the sweetest, _sweetest_ thing a guy has done for me. And _that_ had to be a big deal.

Paul felt so warm, and I don't know if you've noticed this, but hugging a man is way different than hugging a girl. For one, I could feel the breadth of Paul's shoulders, and well-built torso, and he smelled so good with his cologne that he was wearing this evening. And hugging him made me feel so small and fragile, compared to his body-size and guy-strength. It felt nice, like I could go into his arms when I needed somewhere to go, and that he would protect me if I needed protection.

Paul was hugging me back, and it was so perfect. A waitress came up to us, asking if we would like anything, and that broke the mood, so we pulled away from each other.

After we ordered two Pepsis, he asked me, with that smile of his, "I was hoping you didn't have this one yet. You mentioned that you had several No Doubt C.D.s, so I figured… maybe it would be safe to stick to a C.D. that had been just released."

I blushed happily. "Yeah. I mean no, I don't have that one. Thank you, like I said before."

But instead of just staying here, and listening to me gush my "thank yous" for the whole evening, Paul asked, "You want to dance?"

I was taken aback, but I answered, "Sure." Paul helped me up, taking my hand, and led me down to the dance floor.

The evening was filled with dancing, talking, sipping Pepsi, and occasionally holding hands at the table when we were doing none of the above. And there were moments when we slow danced. Yes, I slow-danced with Paul.

"Um, I'm not sure I've done this before," I said, while he wouldn't let me go back to our table.

"Come on," he said. "It's not too difficult." Paul gave me a little twirl, and then I was found in his arms.

Paul was one smooth dancer, I'll give him that. And he was holding me close, while we swayed slowly. I felt his warm breath on my cheek and ear. A shiver up my spine, and I'm sure my heart was pounding so loud, he could hear it. "Paul, I –" I pulled my head off his chest, and was about to ask him my question again, but the announcer on the stage was louder than me.

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen. Tonight has been a lovely evening full of wonderful and talented people." The audience, I heard, clapped politely. "And we will be closing our "Karaoke Nite" in fifteen minutes, so for the last few of you who would still like to come up here, hurry, or you'll have to wait another two weeks to 'show your stuff.' "

Paul ran his searching gaze over my face, "You don't have to go up there, if you don't want to, you know." He told me.

I took a deep breath. "Would you like me to?" I really had to ask.

"You know I'd love you to."

I stepped out, and gave his hand one final squeeze before heading towards the direction of the stage.

I exhaled. "Okay, is it too late to sing?" I asked the announcer.

"Certainly not," he smiled. "Do you know what song you would like to sing?" He gave me a huge spiral book that said, _Karaoke Favorites_.

_What to sing, what to sing?_ I racked my brain for any songs that I might remotely know the words to. I might listen to rock, but that didn't mean I wasn't totally out of touch of what was pop music. I occasionally listened to stations that played Britney Spears and Usher on a regular basis.

I found it.

"That one," I pointed out the song to the announcer. He, with a nod of the head, went to put the song on.

I walked nervously to the microphone. "Hello. I'm Jackie, and I'll be singing 'I Still Believe' by Mariah Carey for you tonight."

There were some woops and cheers out in the crowd.

_What am I doing?_ My brain screamed at me. _Look at all those people! This is social suicide! You're going to embarrass yourself right off the stage!_

Another, larger part of my brain was telling the other side, _Shut up! Shut up! Just sing you stupid girl!_

My hands shook as I reached for the microphone, so in good judgment, I decided to leave the thing on the stand, and just sing like that.

_What am I doing?!_ Was the last thought that fled in, and then straight out of my brain before the first notes of the song came on. After that, I was lost to the music. My brain just stopped thinking all this strange and ridiculous concepts. I saw the words on the screen.

Finally, it got to chorus part, "I still believe, someday you and me/will find ourselves in love again/I had a dream someday you and me/will find ourselves in love again." I knew this part by heart, so I risked taking a glance, and looked at Paul. He was watching me with a look on this face that I really didn't understand – it was that hard to make out. I then glanced back on the screen and finished the song. The crowd hollered at me, cheering, some people even whistled, and yelled, "Yeah!" I flushed with as much pleasure as with embarrassment. I gave an awkward half-curtsy – really, I didn't know what the heck I was supposed to do in a situation like that – then I hurried of the stage, where I found Paul.

"Oh my gosh, I can't believe I just did that! I _never _do anything like that. What did I just _do_?"

"You did great, that's what!" Paul laughed at my flustered state.

"You think so?" I nervously asked.

"Why Ms. Sonrisa? Do I hear self doubt – for the first time ever – from you?" Paul said, in a teasing voice.

I narrowed my eyes, and said, annoyed, "Don't patronize me, Paul."

"I would never dare to, Jackie," he insisted. In fact, he took a strand of my hair, and tucked it behind my ear. My breath backed up in my lungs, and I stopped talking.

The two of us went back to our table. "Listen, I have to ask you a question, Paul."

"And that is…?"

He had been avoiding this question all night. Now I had to corner him with it. "Paul, I want to know, is this a date –"

"– Do you want to step outside for a breath of fresh air Jackie?" I suppressed my desire to groan, loud and hard, but instead gave a swift nod, and grabbed my clutch, and the C.D. present he had bought me. After all… we could still talk outside.

We headed out the door, and were greeted with a blast of the cold night breeze. Paul put his warm arm around me, which I was grateful for.

"Paul?" I shivered, but only a little bit.

"Yeah, Jackie?"

"Why have you been avoiding my question all night?"

He looked down at me, wearing a hint of a frown on his gorgeous face.

"Really? By the way, you did really great out there, did I mention that?"

"Paul," I said through my gritting teeth. "You're doing it again."

He sighed wearily. "Okay, I know, Jackie…"

"But then why won't you answer my question?" I demanded him. It suddenly hit me like a full-force blow to the stomach – something I have previously experienced. "You're trying to tell me something, aren't you?" I asked, dazed, and hurt by my epiphany. I couldn't – wouldn't – look at him. I forced my face to look ahead. "You, you don't like me, in that way, do you?" I managed to squeeze out the words which were stuck in my throat and refused to come out. Sort of the way you try to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste in the toothpaste tube before throwing it away.

Tears were starting to sting in the back of my eyes, and I managed to suppress a sob that was hurtling at a hundred miles an hour from deep inside of me.

"Jackie," he said slowly. Too slowly, in my opinion. But I deftly took his arm of my shoulder, and pushed him away from me. The sob that I was trying to keep suppressed, escaped out of my throat mercilessly, and I started to run – I didn't know where, but somewhere; away from Paul, and the broken remains of my heart.

I couldn't see anything. I couldn't feel anything.

Then I realized that I didn't have any direction to run _to_.

"Jackie!" Paul's voice reverberated through the silent night, and it stopped me in my tracks. He had ran, and finally caught up with me. He was breathing hard from running after me.

"Jackie, you've got it all wrong," he said quickly, as if it was very important that I understand what he was saying. He had to get it out there, and get it out there fast. However he seemed to be at a loss of words.

Then, as if he was seized with his own little inspiration, he starting singing to me quietly, "Don't let it go away/this feeling has got to stay/Don't let it go away/New, you're so new/And I've never had this taste in my past/New, you're so new…"

I started giggling from behind my tears. Then my giggling erupted into a full-blown out laugh. And then Paul started laughing along with me.

"Oh, _hell_ no," I said in between the giggling and the laughing. Finally I just had to ask him, "What was _that_ all about?"

"You still don't know?" Paul said, perplexedly.

I shook my head no, in all honesty. "Oh, it just meant this," and then he swooped down, and kissed me right on the lips. Every bubble of laughter popped, and I stopped my giggling. Paul kissed, and kissed me. I got so caught up in the kiss I felt like I was walking on air. And I had been so sure he didn't like me.

I ran my fingers through his hair, and with this encouragement, Paul pressed me closer to him, and that was even closer than when we were dancing. So close that I could feel his heart racing, like mine, through his blue shirt.

He was kissing me with every fiber of his being; it was so intensely staggering, so fierce and flaming, and so thorough and melting, I almost collapsed on the spot.

I managed to wrench my unwilling lips from his, "Paul –" I got out, before his relentless lips covered mine once more. This time, I didn't protest and give any interruptions.

Eventually, the kiss stopped, and Paul looked at his watch. "_Shit!_" He ran his hands through his hair.

"Paul, um," I sheepishly said. "I wanted to tell you before. We're late."

It was eleven-thirty. Paul rushed me over to my house, and with tires squealing on the pavement, dropped me off. "Thanks for tonight," I said, not looking him in the eye, and I couldn't believe how elementary I was being about this whole thing. Just call me Bashful, one of the seven dwarfs, and get it over with.

"No problem. Just-I hope I didn't get you into trouble."

"I don't think so." I looked at the windows at our house, and no light was on. I was hoping my mother had gone to bed by now, so she wouldn't notice me sneaking into the house half-an-hour later than I said I would.

Besides, it's not like I came home at three in the morning. It was only half-an-hour!

"Okay then, I guess a better get going."

"All right… well see you on Monday."  
"Right, Monday."

We stood in awkward silence. I knew if I started kissing him again, who knew how long I'd stay like that? I just didn't have it within me to wrench away from Paul's spellbinding kisses.

"Good-night."

" 'Night."

I got out of the BMW, and whipped out my house-key, and crept softly to my room. When I had gotten into my P.J.s, and put away my brand new C.D., I did what I was dying to do all night: I flopped on my bed and sighed out loud, happily and blissfully.

* * *

A/N: If you think that this is the end of the story, you've got another thing coming! We still don't know who Jackie's father is, and what exactly happened to him. Stay tuned, to discover about the hidden past, Jackie finally learns about the truth of her family. 


	6. Dad

A/N: I know this was shorter; _much_ shorter than ANY of the other segments of this fan fiction. Well, you guys had a long one last week. Give me a break. I had my _own_ finals to study for. After a whole bunch of long chapters, I know you guys would appreciate one that's shorter. Enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: Yes, yes, I don't own any of Meg Cabot's characters, Paul, Kelly, Brad.

CLAIMER: I own Jackie, and her related characters; the gangster ghost (as you shall see), her dad, etc.

* * *

DAD

JACKIE

I'd _like_ to say the whole story ended here, and it was all happily ever after. I'd _really _like to. But, see, life doesn't just end where everything is fine and dandy, am I right? There's the good, the bad, and the ugly. And right now, it seemed like a whole mesh of the three, if you get my drift. First of all, the there were little things like, oh, me being the ire of Kelly and her clique. Truthfully, I could care less about what Barbie and her group said – or thought – about me. Kelly knew I did _not _steal Paul away from her, but she just can't handle the truth. It's sad, really. I kind of feel sorry for her…

"Hey, Grouchy Girl," Kelly cat-called while we passed each other on in the halls; "Why are you wearing so much black?"  
… Then again, I don't feel as sorry for her as I thought. "You miss your Ken Doll, is that it Kelly? Sorry, but all exchanges are final. You don't get a refund, sweetie." I said, sugary.

I don't believe she understood a word I said, but after a whisper from a friend next to her, Kelly's eyes went wide, and I received a glare from her. It's so fun to mess with simple minds. Paul arrived on the scene, and swung his arm – protectively; almost like he was marking his territory – around my shoulders. I could trust on him to shut Kelly up if anything I said failed to (which rarely did – rarely failed to shut her up, I mean). "Kelly, maybe you should go max out your daddy's credit card somewhere," Paul suggested to her.

Kelly got a sour look on her face, but managed to stalk off away without saying another word.

"Geez, why are you so protective Paul? Are you like, my boyfriend or something?" I playfully pushed him away.

Paul gave a dazzling smile. "That's the master plan." Then he bent down and kissed me. It was really great to be kissed by Paul. What can I say? My boyfriend is impeccable at his art.

Another thing – besides kissing – that Paul excelled at was school. That's why, when the next big shadow of horror that occurred (the six lettered word, _finals_), Paul helped me out when we studied, um… make that, "studied."

Paul was panting roughly, and I wasn't breathing to easily either, later that day. "I think… we should go back to the books, Paul," I said, when I was over at his house. I slid off the couch, and started to walk not very steadily to the table.

"Yeah… books…right," Paul said, as if we were talking about a foreign, distant planet. He was still in the post-making-out stupor that we always seemed to find ourselves in. Hey, I can't say I wasn't much better. He shook his head to get out of his funk. Then he proceeded to walk over to where I was sitting at his dinning room table, where our still untouched books and papers lay, strewn across it.

Paul made sure he sat across from me, and not next to me. Why? Well, we've recently discovered that if we are within touching distance, we tend to get, shall we say… distracted.

"So, what are we going to do next?" I tried to get my eyes to focus on the blurry numbers, variables, exponents, and sines and cosines that were starting to mesh together in my mind. I couldn't believe it, but I was getting noxious from studying, and I hadn't been… studying… all that much. "Trigonometry? English?" I sighed.

"Um," Paul shuffled through his papers, not really looking for anything. "I guess we can do…?"

I felt a pang of pain growing from behind the temple of my forehead, a definite warning sign of a headache. I rose from my chair. "You know what? I'm just going to get some fresh air, I can't focus right now." I started stretching stiff limbs, which I hadn't been really using …, except maybe my lips, if that counts for anything. I started heading out his front door. Ten, fifteen minutes ought to do it. "Coming?" I asked, before I slipped through the foyer, and out the front door.

"In a minute…" Paul distractedly waved for me to go on without him.

With a shrug and a turn of the heel, I headed outdoors. I breathed in the ocean breeze that came right out in Paul's backyard. The sun was shining, and the sound of the waves that crashed could be heard in the distance. Outside, it was another gorgeous day, not like the muggy, sweltering, frying-eggs-on-the-cement days we got back in the L.A. County. The summers were hot as hell. But here, it was as luxurious as Heaven. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Before I got too relaxed, I saw a shimmer that made me groan internally. Ghost. A big, beefy guy, long pony-tail, many tattoos, was wagging his finger at me to come towards him. With a sigh, I slowly made my way over. What did the specters of the world want now?

He led me to the tree that was over in front yard, and then I faced him, and put my hand on my hip, "Listen, buddy. I need to study for finals, so if you could just hurry up and tell me what your problem is, we'll both be on our ways."

"Senorita. It's not my problem. It's yours," he roughly grabbed me by my shirt collar. Then he breathed on my face – or at least, what would have been his breath, I'm sure – the words, "Tell your father," he spat. "That we are waiting for him. If does not have the money by next Friday, that we will get rid of all of his problems. Permanently." To emphasize his point, the filthy gangster held his hands like a pistol, and cocked from his head to mine.

I was paralyzed by fear and wasn't able to do – much less _say_ – anything. The creep, I suppose, took my silence as agreement, and with a nod of the head, he dematerialized into thin air, leaving as quickly as he had come. I finally found myself breathing again. I wasn't scared for my life, if that's what you're thinking – okay, maybe a little; no one's _that_ excessively stupid.

No, if was for something much, much horrifying for me. I panted. _My father. My Father. My _father. Those were the only two words that spun around and around in my head, like a vinyl record on repeat, getting faster, and faster, dizzier, and headier.

My _dad_.


	7. Plotting

CH. 7: PLOTTING

PAUL

I had just finished the last bit of trigonometry before I followed Jackie outside into the sunshine. I shuffled my papers back together, then stretched, and stepped outside. My eyes grazed over the scenery that was my large front yard, over the shading trees, over the gates in the front, over to – Jackie.

Jackie, who had melted into a puddle on the carpet of grass, and weeping a fountain of tears, from what I could tell; I threw flat, open hand over on my forehead, and gazed over to make sure I was seeing things correctly. Yes. The same short, bright-red streaked hair, the same small figure, and the same black wardrobe that Jackie wears when she gets a chance to outside of school. My gave a terrible, horrible lurch, like when you nearly get into a car accident, and you're so terrified for your safety that your heart is throbbing in the vicinity of your throat. That's the turmoil of feelings that coursed through me when I saw her there, so vulnerable, sad – and obviously hurt. This time, my heart was throbbing not because being hurt, but the chance that _Jackie _might be.

That's why I felt my legs pick up speed, until I was dashing across the way, until I was at her side as fast as I could possibly move on legs alone. I saw her running mascara and tear-streaked eyes, and my heart shattered into a million pieces right there. She looked so … lonely, and so _out _of it. I knelt down beside her.

"Jackie," I softly, tentatively, like she was a delicate piece of crystal, and the slightest harsh word would send her off into a crash and break her forever.

"Oh… Paul," she slowly looked up at me with those melting chocolate brown eyes of hers, like she just registered that I was here next to her. Then I wrapped my arms around her, as she lurched forward, and started a fresh peal of salty, dismal tears into the front of my shirt.

"Paul," her voice was muffled because I was holding her so tightly. "Wh–what am I going to do?"

"Shhh… Baby, don't cry. What are you going to do about what?" I asked her.

I dried her tears with my handkerchief that I had previous used for… more devious reasons. After a few minutes, Jackie managed to quiet down her tears – at least they weren't flowing so freely, I mean.

She cleared her throat. "Ah, um… thanks Paul." Then a confused frown crossed her adorable face that I loved so much. "Did you just call me 'baby'?"

I laughed, "So what if I did?"

She gave me a slight shove, "I told you _not_ to call me all those demeaning, womanizing names!"

I laughed even harder, "What ever you say, _sweetheart_," I managed to get out between my roaring laughter.

Jackie wasn't pleased with that, and so she stood up and tromped angrily away.

"Come on Jackie!" I called after her. "Don't be like that! I was just trying to get you to laugh."

"Demeaning words _aren't _funny, Paul!" She shouted back at me. Still, she slowly made her way back.

The sad look was still in her eyes and in her face. I said, "Tell me what's wrong."

Jackie slowly managed to get her lips to part, to tell me what happened to her, what made her cry this hard. "My _father_," were the two words she achieved in choking out. I felt like the wind had been kicked out from under my feet.

I was her expecting her to _something_, more like, "Paul, I broke my wrist" (I should hope not!), or maybe, "Studying has been getting to me!", but _nothing_ concerning her father. It's like asking for a well done steak with shrimp on the side, at the restaurant, and instead being given eggs done sunny-side-up. I was totally, and utterly in shock, and taken aback.

Her dad. Her _dad_? My mind was rummaging through everything Jackie told me about her father. Albeit, she told me very little, but I remembered she told me the first day we met that he left them – her and her mother. He _left _them. My blood began to boil. How dare _he_, that son of a –

"If he doesn't do something, they're going to kill him," Jackie gulped sadly.

My furious gaze softened as I turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"

After giving a shaky, tear-filled sigh, she explained, "I-if _papi_ doesn't give-give them the money by _Friday_," to emphasize her point, her eyes widened – the day of our finals, I realized – "th-then he's going to k-_kill_ him." She gave a cry, and covered her mouth, and began to weep harder.

I hushed her, and took her in my arms again. I wasn't sure what to say, what to do, much less what to think of all of this.

"Don't worry. We'll figure something out," I whispered in Jackie's hair. She gave a nod, which sort of was my signal to continue. "But - … Are you sure you want to help your father? Even after – even after he left your mother and you?" I softly asked.

She looked up at me, surprised. "Paul, even if he left us, he's _still my dad_. And I," she sighed, "I still love him. You know?"

I'm not sure if I quite "knew". But instead I told her, "Okay, then we'll help him."

"We? What do you mean 'we'?"

"I _mean_ I'm going to help you, too. You think I'd just stand by? What from the sidelines? Of course not," I said firmly. "And Suze, Jesse, Father Dominic, they all care, too. They'll want to help – you know that."

"No way," she pulled back. "This is _my_ problem. I don't drag my friends into possible danger. Besides, he's _my_ father."

I stare at her impassively. "You. By yourself. Go to fight some guys who you don't even know. Alone." She fidgeted under my gaze. Then I said in an outburst, "I'm _not _going to let you do it. Not in this lifetime."

"Are you serious? Paul, how many times must I tell you –?"

"As many times as you want for all I care. I'm still going to help you, and that's the end of that."

She gave a groan of exasperation. "Fine, fine. But will you let the _others_ decide if they want to come. Don't you dare try to persuade them; force them, _whatever_ to come. Understand?"

"Honey, I have not the _least _intention of doing so," I lied.

"Fine," she angrily said.  
"Okay," I retorted.

"All right."

"Fine."

We glared at each other. We managed to trudge back inside the house without saying another word to one another. Once we were inside, Jackie informed me she had somewhere else to be, and so she left without saying anything else. She refused to let me drive her. And I gave up, and didn't insist on it either.

I called Suze on the phone five minutes later, telling her that we, Jesse, and the Father needed to meet; I insisted that it was an emergency action. She said she'd be there right away. Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of my house. All three of them. The Father looked especially flustered, but serious and ready to listen to what I was about to tell them.

Jesse looked at me a bit untrustingly, "This had better be good, Paul. I have college finals to study for."

"So do we all," I admittedly nodded. "That's why this will only take a few minutes of your time, and ours."

Feeling satisfied, Jesse sat down, and looked serious. And of course, this was a serious nature.

"It's about Jackie's father."

They all looked confused. It was only Father Dominic who spoke up, "But in her school records there's no mention of her father."  
"Exactly," I said.

"What; is her father dead?" Asked Suze. This was a legitimate question, as we were all shifters.

"No, but he very soon might be," I nodded.

That grabbed the attention of my listeners. I filled in all the blanks – or as much as I could, at any rate. Luckily I didn't need to persuade the three to join in for our cause. They easily agreed to help. In fact, they insisted on doing so, even before I proposed the question to them.

"We've _got_ to help," Suze stood up.

"Paul, do you know _where_ her father is going to drop off the money?" Jesse asked; all action.

"We can throw another fundraiser for him with the school," Father Dominic offered. At that, Suze and I groaned. There were _always_ fundraisers going on at the school. Luckily our local neighbors were willing to supply us with the money we needed.

"But Father," I said, emphasizing the words, "It's _this Friday_."

"_This _Friday?" Asked the incredulous Suze. "But we have finals!"

"I know," I gave a weary sigh.

"That's no good," Jesse sat back down, deep in thought.

"Maybe…" began the Father slowly, craftily. "Something could possibly … happen at the school to… put off the day of finals…?"

"Father D!" Suze was shocked.

"Just for a day or two. Maybe for the weekend, that's all," he hastily amended.

A smiled started to bloom on my own face. "I like your way of thinking, Father."

"No, no, that wouldn't work," Jesse said with the shake of his head, still thinking. "What about _my_ school? Besides, surely some one would _notice _if two local schools experienced some sort of disaster on the same _day as finals_. They'd suspect that it was done by kids who wanted more time to study," he looked up at us.

"All the more reason to do it," I insisted. Besides, I wouldn't mind some more time to study. And I'd think the rest of my school would agree with my way of thinking. But he did have a point. He was going to college. It would look like something _more _than a coincidence if we… er… oh, darn it! I can't think of a euphemism for this one. Okay fine, it would look like it was planned if we blew up the side of both schools. Or whatever the Father had planned.

"So we're back to square one," I told them.

"Not quite," Suze began to ponder. That's when she told us her plan. And, if I may quote the movie _Master of Disguise, _"It was crazy. So crazy it just… might… work."


	8. It Begins

A/N (AUTHOR'S NOTE): Loco Beka, I _implore _you, do not appoint deranged monkeys at me! … I wrote the story as whenever I could! I know this took a little bit longer to add the next part of this story in, but you can't blame me! I had so much homework and everything, even though I _tried_ to get some time in, but I just couldn't. At least I got this thing up on the weekend – like I said I would.

To the story, which I'm sure you all are anxious to read…

* * *

IT BEGINS

PAUL

"This is Mrs. Ackerman on Channel 8, NCA News, and here with a live report."

_What did we just do_? I thought. _Exactly_ what _did we just do_? I'll tell you what we did, a big mistake that's what. But that's just my opinion. Let me rewind a bit, and I will let you decide for yourself.

* * *

I really wanted to stop my girlfriend's father from being _murdered_, and everything. And this was Suze's idea. Put it on television. Get the whole county of Carmel, California looking for Jackie's father along with us.

Stop laughing. I mean it; it sounded better than what Father Dom had. Which was – unfortunately – what I thought. The Father, who is a good man, don't get me wrong, indeed wanted to blow up a portion of the school. Sort of like what happened when Heather and the Father Sierra statue. You could tell he was really excited about his plan – not about blowing up the _school_, per say, but just about blowing _something _up. The guy liked "natural" disasters. I mean even though he is a priest and everything, you know, he's still a guy; and tell me, which guy does notlike those great Arnold and Bruce Willis movies, with explosions? Lots and lots of explosions…

Sorry, I digress. Any way, it was when I was this close to giving up that Suze had her idea.

"Not quite," she said, lost in thought.

"Oh, and you have any thing better?" I sarcastically commented, and threw my hands up in the air.

"It's not all that hopeless Slater," Jesse said sternly.

I was bitter, upset, and I just couldn't think of anything. That's why I turned to sarcasm. "Sorry Jesse. You know, we have _6_ days to look for him. I think we might find him, seeing has how we have _no_ lead, an anonymous _death _threat, and he must obviously be a wanted man. Yes, Jesse. He's _definitely_ going to want to hang around _here_."

Jesse begged to differ, "On the contrary. Didn't the guy seek out _Jackie_ to send the word along to her father?"

"As in...?" I impatiently prompted.

"As _in_, Paul," Suze shot up from her chair. "Oh my God! Why didn't I think of this earlier! Jesse, you're a _genius_!" She ran over and gave Jesse a hug that sent him flying back in his seat. "That's _it!_"

"What the hell is going on? I don't get it." The Father stifled a gasp, and then gave me a reprimanding look for my word choice. It was just that usually I'm the brains of the operation, if I do say so myself, and I didn't like not understanding what they were talking about.

"Paul, don't you get it?" Suze jumped up excitedly, while Jesse recovered from the whole "Hugging Incident" and turned a nice wine-red color, blushing. "If the ghost man was looking for Jackie he must have reason to believe that her _dad_ is _here_. He's here, Paul. I just know it. And the guy thinks that Jackie has the resources to contact him. _That's _what Jesse means."

"Gee, that helps. So what did this prove, besides the fact that we have just now eliminated about 49 states and all the cities in them? Carmel is still a big enough town for us to take at least four weeks to find the guy. He must be in hiding, so it's not going to make things any easier." Despite my hopeless attitude, despite my sarcasm, this time I could feel a bit of hope lighting up within me. Maybe, we might be able to pull this one off.

"You know, if we had some more people looking for him besides the five of us – and the ghost-person," Jesse amended, as he mused.

"You mean the police?" Father Dominic asked.

"I'm thinking maybe a little _more _than the police," Jesse still was lost in deep thought. "Back – back from my time, when some one was looking for a criminal, the entire family; the entire country-side would all be looking for him. Usually we were more likely to capture him – or them – that way."

"You mean… probably like… a whole city?" Suze slowly pronounced.

"And how exactly would we get a whole city looking?" I asked. This was just stupid. But then Suze turned, and smiled this bright smile and said two words that got my jaw dropping.

"The news."

"The _news_?" I was incredulous. "The _news_? How the he-" Before I could finish that sentence, Jesse stood up.

"The news! Of course, Susannah!"

Then Suze was glowing under the admiration of her boyfriend. Even Father Dominic had the look of realization dawning on him.

"Susannah!" he exclaimed. "Of course! Your mother!" He was smiling like the rest of them.

Her mother? What did she have to do with all of this?

* * *

And that's why I flipped on to the 7 o'clock, I knew what I was going to hear – and see. It wasn't easy convincing Jackie, and when I finally did manage to, I realized that we might have not done the right thing. I'm still not sure about that, but… watching the TV, I knew either way, it was too late. 


	9. The True Story

THE TRUE STORY

JACKIE

_Un patito, un patito / Él no tenía nada amigo / "Da me un beso" / Dijo el patito / "Y todo estará bien." A ducking, just one / with no friends; oh, none / cries "Give me a kiss / and all will be well!" / one little duckling / all by himself… Un patito, solo uno…_

I woke up humming to this lullaby. It was only after I had gotten out of bed, brushed my hair, and washed my face, when it pierced me like a dart to the heart, carrying with it the throbbing pain of nostalgia. You see, my dad used to sing me this song.

Weird isn't it? Not the part about me remembering the song, I mean - although, albeit, I hadn't thought about it in years, I almost had forgotten the rhymes. I mean the part about my _father _singing me a lullaby. Oh, I know; on TV they always have "Mother lulling her little baby-girl to sleep as she strokes her precious hair, and whispers, _I love you_, as she creeps softly and silently once she realizes her 'baby girl' is asleep." I don't know where they based this story, but they certainly weren't talking about _my _family.

In my family, Dad was the one doing all the singing, and whispering "I love you, _hija,_" as he crept gently out of my room once he saw my eyes drooping ever so slightly. He had a voice like liquid gold, like the babbling rivers, like… like Dad. I felt another pierce. God, how I missed him! My eyes pricking, and before I knew it, tears started flowing just like the babbling rivers I was just thinking of.

It wasn't until Mom called me from downstairs to get moving that I dabbed my eyes, and gave a short laugh on how it would ruin my mascara (which I had taken to wearing since I thought I looked okay in it), in a pathetic attempt to cheer myself up before breakfast.

I dashed down the stairs, and caught the toast just as it popped up. Mom was making scrambled eggs. I went over and pecked a customary "good morning" kiss. "Hey, Mom."

"Sit down, and get your breakfast, Jackie," she said, and then turned around only to find me staring, not at my plate, eating, but instead out the window.

"What's the matter, _mija_?"

"Nothing, I'm just… _mami_," I asked, very cautiously approaching my question. "Do you hate daddy for leaving us the way he did?"

My mom, who was probably expecting me to say something along the lines of, "I have a pop quiz today that I didn't study for; can I stay home? (the answer obviously being no)" was startled for a moment, and had to pause and think about what I just asked her.

Dread started creeping over me, until I felt like I was about to hurl, but my mom said slowly, but firmly, "No, I do not hate your father, sweetheart. I forgive him, because even though he left us, he was never cruel or anything. He was a good man, _hija_. And someday, you'll come to learn, that the best memories overshadow what ill we might want to be harboring.

"Of course sometimes just the opposite happens too," she remarked as an afterthought.

"I don't even remember him!" I spat, crying out the thought that was going through my head non-stop. "I don't even remember the slightest thing about him! How can I even know if what he did was worth forgiving -"

"When you love some one, you forgive them," Mom interrupted, resolutely.

"That's not the point, Mom! I- I," I couldn't help but bursting into tears right then and there.

My mom cupped my face tenderly, whipping away the streaks of tears that were freely flowing on my cheeks. "So you want to know the story, then? _Hija_, you can't change the past. And I just want to you know, that whatever I tell you, it wasn't your fault that he left, if that's what you're thinking. You were nothing but a child then."

"I know," I smiled, whispering hoarsely.

With a sigh, my mom began telling me, "I met your father in college. He – he was a nice man," Mom difficultly began. I felt bad, and said, "Mom, you don't have to-"

But she stopped me from any more protests. "No, no. You deserve a right to know. So," she started afresh.

"He was everything I thought a man should be, but most importantly, I _loved_ him; I still do."

I stared at her in awe.

"And he loved me to. When he asked me to marry him, I felt as if all the joy in the world put together could not surpass the joy I was feeling in my heart that day. We were," she gave a reminiscing chuckle, "Just like any newly-wed couple. We only had eyes for each other. We lived each day, and each night in practically in each other's arms. And even though we weren't living exactly in the lap of luxury," she gave a wry smile. "He promised – he promised me that we would one day be living with the Big Boys, as he called them. I doubted him, but as any young lover, I said I believed in him, and that I'd help him see through any thing and everything. And… well, one day, there we were. Living in Bell-Air, with every rich TV producer, retired Grammy-winning director there was."

"- what did he do?" I asked in wonder.

Mom just shook her head, not looking at me. "I don't know, _mija_, but we were finally able to keep food on the table." I couldn't hold back a gasp. I didn't think things were that bad in the beginning. But, I noted ironically, things ended up being that bad in the end – for Mom and me, any way.

"When you have been living off macaroni and cheese for the past year and a half, you don't want to question where your money comes from," she whispered quietly.

"So…" she tried to finish off the story. "One day, he said he had to go. He said he didn't know when or if he'd be back, but he told me he loved the two of us, and to give you all of his love. No matter what sort of man your father ended up becoming," my mom looked me dead serious in the eye. "Never, _ever_ doubt his love for you. He loves you, _hija_; he would give up anything and everything for you."

By then I was wiping away the tears that were once again forming in my eyes. Screw the mascara and eyeliner. "Mom," I whispered, and when over to hug this brave woman.

"And those C.D.s; you dad really did send them to you," she said, choked up in her own tears.

"I know, Mom. I know." Because, I really did know.


	10. Temptation and Tears

TEMPTATION & TEARS

PAUL

I thought it was over. I thought, "Hey, no more calls. No more stalker; great job Paul! Way to go man." I give myself a nice pat on the back, and we all move on with life.

I thought wrong.

Kelly was not finished – again. So Tuesday night, I picked up the phone to heard on the other line, the purring voice of, "Kelly, why are you calling me again?" I asked in a blandly.

"Oh, Paul," she giggled, much to my annoyance. "Is it so wrong to want to talk to you? You know," she put on a silky voice, "I've really missed you. Or," she corrected her self, "You. And _me_."

"Kelly, I'm hanging up now," I went to put the phone on the receiver, when I heard her shriek – in a high enough pitch to shatter all the glassware in our kitchen – "_No_!" I stared at the receiver as though it started growing ears. "Ah, I mean, no, Paul," Kelly amended, trying to sustain a sexy voice. "You do not want to do that."

"No, I'm pretty sure I do," I stared at my cuticles, bored.

"I thought we could, you know, get together, and meet over dinner – my treat – then go over to my place, to … _study_."

"- am hanging up now…" I told her.

"No, Paul. Paul! Paaawwwll-"

The click of my phone cut Kelly's voice off, as I turned off the phone, and put it back on the receiver. Then I stuck my finger in my ear, at the pain of it all – you know; listening to Kelly's shrieks for more than thirty seconds could actually do some permanent damage to a guy's ear.

JACKIE

Tuesday night. I had finished my homework, and left with nothing to do, I sat cross-legged on my bed, looking through an old photo album my mom dug up for me, that I'd never seen before. There was my dad. I chuckled to myself, amused at the fact that I not only had my father's hair – ink black – but that I also had his nose, and eyes.

I wish I knew where he was. I wish I knew whether or not if he was all right. Did the police get to find him? Did the guy who was after him find him? I shuddered at that thought. _Where are you…?_

Fifteen minutes later, I was finished thumbing through the book, my eyes still raw from the occasional tear I shed. I was about to drift away into slumber when I heard a loud, _Craaaacckkkk_. I shot up – _the hell_?

_Craaaccckkk_. _Ticktick. Chip_. I slid off my bed, in the darkness, and, on all fours, moved slowly and reached for my old friend – my baseball bat. Holding the neck of the bat, I watched the rusty window rattle, and then finally was pushed up by two tanned hands.

I was at the ready. And then a head emerged – the bastard must have climbed all the way up here, because my bedroom was on the second floor. Well, I was about to send him flying – literally.

"_Sayonara, _biaatch," I swung, putting my weight into it, but I had to stop myself short when I saw the face. My blood went cold with shock, and my bat fell on the floor with a loud clatter.

Wincing at the noise I cried, "Damnit!" Was my mom awake? Well, she probably would be now, I thought. Then I started, and looked back at the man sitting on my window.

"Well, you have all the reason to be angry at me," he gave a rueful chuckle, with the shake of his head. "But what a welcome."

I blinked, and stared hard. After a long pause, I pronounced, "I must be hallucinating," and then went back into my bed. "I'll probably wake up in the morning," I said to myself aloud, as I fluffed my pillows. "And this will all be a dream." I stared amused at the figure, the smiled.

"Weird, perhaps twisted dream," I put one leg under the cover, "But a dream none the less."

The man just stared at me, baffled.

"Goodnight, phantom," I turned in my bed, my back to him, and was about to go to sleep.

But I couldn't. Because he flicked on the lights. "Why can't you just go away? Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?" I hissed. "This is _just_ a dream. _You_ won't be _here_. In. The. Morning." I waved it away. "Shoo. Scat. _Disappear_." I wiggled my arms in such a way to illustrate what I was saying.

He crossed his arms. "Is that any way to treat your father, _hija_?"

I looked up again, squinting under the light. Then I heard a gasp from some where (later did I realize that the gasp came from me). "D-D-Dad?" I was so scared to say it. I was so worried that as soon as I said the word, he would evaporate like a puff of smoke in front of my very eyes.

"Yes, baby girl. It's me." Then the sob came. "Oh Dad. Where have you been all this time?" I flung my arms around his neck like I used to as a little girl. For a while neither of us said anything as I wept, overwhelmed with the shock of it all.

Finally, I realized what was going on. Other emotions overtook me. One of the most predominant: anger. Anger. How _dare_ he leave us all this time without a word? He was gone all this time, and then –

I violently pulled away. "Where the hell were you all this time?" I cried through my hot, livid tears.

He looked grim. "Don't cuss, _hija_," was the only thing he said, however.

"And-and," I had trouble finding the words. "How could you do this to me and mom? How _could_ you-" Then I remembered. Mom. So, in a lower voice, I said, "Do you know how much we went though? _Do you_? And you -" I blew the hair out of my face hostilely. "You don't even know the _half_ of it-" I jabbed my finger at him. "Yo-you…" I trailed off, and couldn't say any more, I was brawling that violently.

"I know it's been hard on you. That's why I sent you the money," he shifted uncomfortably.

"The money?" I looked up at him, confused.

"Yes, the money. How else did you think you moved here? Your mom's job, as you well know, couldn't have paid for the move from LA to Carmel. And enrolling at the Academy too…"

"You sent us _money_?" I stood up, incredulous.

"Well, yes. Although, your mom doesn't know it was from me, so do you think you could keep this under wraps?" he shifted again.

I was flushed under the warmth of gratitude, and love for my father. But then, "You think you could just make everything all better? Make up for all those years without you with _money_? Well if you do-"

"I know I can't make it up like that, _hija-_" he honestly admitted it, and shook his head sadly, that I couldn't say anything back, except a huffy, "Yeah. Good." I crossed my arms, tapped my foot, and couldn't look at him after that, due to a now guilt conscience. But why should I be the one feeling guilty? It was all his fault, really. After all that yelling and angry tears, though, now I just felt tired.

"Listen, Dad. I'm glad you are at least safe, all right? Really. But… I kind of have to go to bed – I have school tomorrow – so, can we talk about this in the morning?"

"Morning?" He looked at me as though I was stupid – well, not stupid, but thick, sure. "Hija, I can't stay."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because – because it would make things… uncomfortable." Right; how could I have forgotten? From Mom to the police, to the ghost, I didn't know where to start. "Okay, Dad." I shook my head in a pathetic attempt to not feel so sleepy – it didn't work. "So what do you want to talk about?" I tried to keep the testy tone out of my voice when I talked to him.

In actuality, I was not annoyed at him; all right, I was but not so much as I was annoyed at myself for caring… _a lot_.

"So who are these people after you? Why do you owe them money?" And why does it look like you haven't shaved in ages? I added mentally. "Does this have anything to do with your job? And what is it that you do any way?"

"Let me start from the beginning," he sighed, sitting down next to my bed.


	11. The Problem

A/N: After a VERY long hiatus, as I'm sure you know (and a really bad writer's block to boot), I'm back to writing this story. I sincerely apologize to the readers. I promise no more writer's block if I can help it! Even if I have it, I'll still try to finish it by the end of January if I can.

CH 11: THE PROBLEM

JACKIE

"Jackie, over here," Suze waved for me to come over and join her at the lunch table.

"Oh, hey Suze," I said, groggily. After all: staying up all night can to that to a girl.

She patted the empty seat next to her, so I swung my backpack on top of the table, and sunk down. "So… tired…" I moaned, resting my head on my forearms.

"Here, want some of my Dr. Pepper?" CeeCee offered. I gratefully accepted the drink, and took a swig. Ah… caffeine. I was now able to actually raise my head up. "Thanks, C," I nodded appreciatively. It wasn't routine for me to sit at Suze's table, but, in light of recent events, I needed some one to confide in. Someone who would most likely know what I'm going through. So after swallowing my lunch, which tasted like saw-dust, I was that numb (or maybe my drowsiness was finally getting to my taste buds too? Who's to say?). "Suze, listen, is there somewhere we can go to… talk?" I whispered in a low voice.

Suze glanced back at CeeCee and Adam, who were now cuddling together – they had been going out for a while now. She gave a sharp whistle to catch their attention. CeeCee and Adam looked up. "Listen you two lovebirds, Jackie and I are out of here, we have to go to the bathroom. Don't get too busy," she eyed them, warily, "while we're gone." Ah. I understood now what she was trying to do: she knew that they'd take full advantage of the fact that we were gone, and she was making them well aware of the fact that we were leaving. Maybe if they were too preoccupied, with say… making out, they wouldn't be aware of the time, and wouldn't realize how long we'd be gone. And let me just say now, I had a lot of things to discuss before lunch was through. CeeCee snorted, "Yeah, right Simon." But I could tell from the way they were goggling into each other's eyes that they would have no clue that we even left.

_Tuesday:_ _3 days left_, I shivered at the thought of it, as we walked under the breezeways, and headed to the girls' bathroom.

After checking in each stall, to make sure no one else was around to hear us, Suze whispered, "All right, Jackie. Did the police find him?"

"Well… it's not as simple as that…" I began.

"But did you find him?" she insisted.

"More like he found _me_," I said slowly.

"And?"

"And," I looked her dead-serious in the eye. "If we don't come up with the money soon, he's screwed." Cold words, but how else could I have said it? It's the only way I could have dealt with it right now.

"Oh no," she breathed.

"Yeah," I commented.

"But – but…" I could tell she wanted to ask me.

"Why does he owe a ghost money?"

"Yeah," she asked. I shook my head at the wonder of it all – I could scarcely believe it myself when Dad first told me.

"My dad can see ghosts, just like me," that's who I must have got my "Gift" from, most likely, "And not only that – there's – there's a secret society – of ghosts I mean. Dead guys who used to be part of gangs, and who now use their new ghostly-form to their advantage. That's what my dad was part of. He used to run errands for them." I shuddered at the thought of all the murderous – and obviously illegal, too – things my dad must have done to get so much money in his lifetime. Stealing, and _more_ than stealing… I wasn't proud of it, but I wasn't going to sit there and deny it either. "I could hardly believe it when he told me," I paced back and forth. "It sounds just as crazy as it did last night, but here I am, telling you."

"Oh, I don't find it so hard to believe," she said with a nod, and crossed her arms. I paused to look up at her, confused. "I mean, I know some one who used to do that. But it was the other way around. He used the ghosts to do his bidding, I mean. To commit criminal deeds, and obtain money…" My mind still drew a blank.

"Never mind," she shook her head. "He's changed now, anyway. So why dwell in the past?" Simon stated the last part so quietly I could barely catch what she said. (AUTHOR'S NOTE: She's talking about Paul and what he did in the series, but Jackie wouldn't know about it, since she moved in here AFTER Paul redeemed himself and changed most of his ways.)

"Anyway, Jackie," she said, in a louder voice. "How much does his owe?"

"A hundred thousand dollars," I said quietly.

Suze swore under her breath – and she hardly ever swears. "Okay, okay now," she ran her fingers through her hair – in a rather frantic, agitated motion. "Let's think this thing over logically. A hundred thousand dollars -" she looked up at me. Her face collapsed in defeat. "Jackie what are we going to do?" she exclaimed.

"I have no clue," I sunk to the bathroom floor – which was pretty gross, but I didn't care. I felt like crap; I'd never felt so helpless in my life. Usually, I like to face my problems head on, and when things don't work out the way they should, I use my fist – or brass knuckles, if the occasion arises. But my dad? The money? I felt as useful as a wet rag – that is to say, not very useful.

"You'll figure it out," she nodded towards me.

I smiled in return, "You know. I just realized. This is as bad as it gets, I mean. What else can happen, seriously?"


	12. The Plot Thickens

A/N – An upper-cut is a type of punch that you hit from below _upwards_; a term used in boxing – and I know this because my brother loves the _Rocky_ movies.

From my not-so-extensive knowledge, I know that Morrissey usually plays depressing songs, so that's why Jackie is listening to it (you'll see…).

CH. 12: THE PLOT THICKENS

PAUL

I chose to go to the library at lunch, and that's why, just before the bell for lunch to be over rang I was stuffing the books I had checked out (Tolstoy and Issac Asimov). Just as I slammed my locker door shut, when who's annoying high-pitched voice should I hear behind me but, "Kelly, I swear. I don't have time for this."

"But Pawwl!" she whined (and I winced) "Why won't you just talk to me!" I suppressed a shudder as she laid one of her talon-hands on my shoulder.

"Kelly," Let me make this crystal clear for you: I _already_ have a girlfriend," I said, peeling her hand off me, and looking down at her.

"B-but Paul…" her lower lip trembled.

Then I remembered how Suze was always telling me to be nicer to others. So, I heaved a sigh, and took her by the elbow, leading her away from my locker. "Jackie and I are happily together. Now, what I suggest that you find some other brainless little twit like yourself – I mean, find some other _lovely person_ such as yourself, and go on whatever little 'dates' and picnics your little skull contrives to go on, _but_," I said dead-serious, "leave Jackie and me _alone_. Got it?"

Tell _me _to be nice – yeah right. This'll teach me to ever be nice to any one with the likes of Kelly Prescott, because maybe my 'oh so kind' words overwhelmed her heart, which was the precise size of a pin, that she looked up at me and said dreamily "I got it," which annoyed me further still.

"No, Kelly, I don't think you ge-" and that was when she grabbed my face and started kissing me like a freaking leech. What frustrating, idiotic girl!

I struggled to wrench my lips from hers. The bell had already rung for class, I guess, but I must have not heard it; the hallways were started to fill up with chatting teens.

"What the - " I finally managed to wrench my lips off to say that much. What did I get myself into? I almost managed to pull away completely when I heard a gasp from behind me.

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Whirling around, I came faced to face with –

"Jackie," I explained hastily. "It's not what it looks like," saying the first thing that came to my mind.

I don't think I'll ever forget the heart-shattering expression on her face when I turned around that first instant. But by the next, her facial expression diffused into one of extreme anger.

"Oh really, Paul Slater?" she said haughtily, with a simmering anger behind the cynical smile that she was throwing my way. "Don't tell me Miss Kelly was having difficulty with the art of respiration and she needed your help?" she quirked an eyebrow.

"Stay out of this, you –you tramp!" Kelly called out from behind me, where she hid, attempting to shield herself from Jackie's wrath. Still, I noticed she couldn't help but hold back a triumphant smile.

"Bitch," Jackie bit back coolly.

No one – I mean _no one_ – had ever called Kelly a bitch to her face; behind her back, maybe. but to her face? Never.

If people hadn't stopped and watched the building tension before, they were now.

Everyone held their breath – even me.

Kelly's face was as scarlet as the stiletto heels on her feet. She gave a wild shriek, charging head-long at Jackie, "What did you call me!" she cried.

With a swift grab and expert turn and twist, Jackie had Kelly pinned against the locker-wall with a loud BANG. "Bitch," Jackie hissed in her ear, and released the whimpering Kelly from her death-grip.

As Kelly rubbed her wrist in pain, I slowly approached Jackie, like approaching an angry snake, I was unsure of what to do. "Uh, Jackie?"

She slowly turned around to face me, and then gave me a hard upper-cut to the stomach, before dashing off, and disappearing into the crowd. As I bent, doubled-over in pain, I had only one thought in my brain, (besides: _I need an ambulance_), and that was, _how am I ever going to fix this?_

JACKIE

I knew it – or, well, I _should _have known. Never fall for a pretty-boy. Nope – they'll just rip your heart out of your chest, and throw it on the ground – not that _I_ was going through this; nope. Nah-uh. No way.

I told myself this as I popped in a Morrissey CD, and got myself a box of chocolates that we have in our house in case someone drops by. I also went to throw away the empty tissue box that I just finished, and got myself another.

Not that I was crying. It was just allergies. Yes, allergies.

But what am I allergic to?

Oh yes: Pretty Boys who tear your heart out.

I turned the volume up higher to drown out my crying. I sang along through my tears, "_Everyday is like Sunday/Everyday is silent and grey._"

I caught my reflection in the mirror; luckily Mom wasn't home yet to see me look like such a mess: tear-streaked cheeks and puffy-read eyes. My stupid eyeliner was running (on the _one_ day I decided to wear again…).

I gave a small laugh, have I been crying every day this week? I hadn't cried since the day my father had left, and I was now turning into a softie bucket of sop. No, I roughly wiped my tears aside. No; what happened to me?

I stomped over to my closet, and started rifling through the pile of clothes on the bottom. I never was softie, and never will.

I found my fishnets. I found my high-heeled, laced-up combat boots.

I turned Morrissey off and put in the Ramones. "_Hey, Ho, let's go_!" Joey Ramone pumped as the music throbbed.

I re-applied my eye-liner – this time the way I _used _to. I zipped, strapped, and button on my toughest bad-girl outfit. Black pants, black top, black eyeliner…

Now I looked myself in the mirror, saw I looked like a scary bat out of hell – and smiled.

Let's kick some ghost-ass.

How could I have forgotten crying doesn't get you anywhere? How could I have forgotten to _do_ rather than _think_?

I left a message on Suze's voice mail when she didn't pick up, "It's me, Jackie. I'm going to stop them from killing my dad. Meet me by the warehouse on La Mesa and Walnut if you wanna join in on the rumble. 'Kay, bye," I clicked off.

Then I dashed down the steep hill from my house, not caring how I was going to go back – just focusing on what I _had_ to do.

And that was to save my dad.

Screw Paul, screw Kelly; I had seem to forgotten what mattered most in my life right now…

PAUL

"Kelly, I'm dead-serious." I had followed her home so I could knock some sense into her. And if I couldn't? Then maybe I could find some leverage to blackmail against her, because, frankly, "nice" didn't work with Kelly.

Kelly gave a toss of her hair, and picked up the phone. "So where do you wanna go tonight, Paul? I was thinking Wolfgang Puck's, but if we wanna go there, we better make reservations now."

"Kelly," I took the phone from her hands and turned it off. "_We_ aren't going _anywhere_ tonight. No," I interrupted her look of wanting to protest. "Not tonight, not _ever_."

"Come on, Paul," she frowned, putting her hands on her hips. "Don't be like that. Besides, why are you so interested in _her_? She's not pretty, rich," she ticked off on her fingers. "Or popular – like me."

"She is gorgeous," I stepped forward, "And she may not be rich or 'popular', but she's more of a woman than _you'll _ever be."

Kelly's eyes went wide. When she finally found her voice, Kelly said, "You must really like her, then."

"Kelly, I _love_ her," then I just realized what I said - and how it was true. "Shit," I cussed under my breath. I really screwed up this time. Suddenly my cell phone started ringing.

With fleeting hope, I thought it just might be Jackie – but it was Suze. "Hello?" I answered.

"Paul!" she yelled breathlessly. "It's Jackie! She's going to take them all on by herself!"

"What!" I held the phone a little away from my ear. "What are you talking about? Jackie taking on _who_? What's going on?" I panicked.

"_Jackie_," she said exasperatedly. "She's in trouble. Meet me at…" she gave me the address. "And _hurry_!"

I clicked off rapidly, and dashed down out the room, "I'm sorry Kelly. I really gotta go."

"Is it Jackie?" she said softly, and a little timidly.

"Yeah, she's in trouble," I said, agitated.

"Then you – you better go to her," she said resolutely, as if giving me permission. I understood. It was her way of letting me go.

I nodded, "Thanks Kelly. And look," I paused, before heading on the front door. "You know it would never have worked out between us. You'll find someone real nice some day."

She smiled at me, and I smiled back. Then I turned and sprinted to my car, gunned the engine, and revved out of the driveway.


	13. Prelude to a Battle

A/N: alright, I apologize for not updating sooner. I've been busy writing a story at the Meg Cabot Book Club writing forum, and it was hard to fill my head with any plots besides that one until I was done. (Lesson: next time I shall finish one story before beginning another). So without further ado: the next chapter (I know it's short)

CHAPTER 13: Prelude to a Battle

Thank God the warehouse that my dad told me of wasn't too far from my house, because I realized that walking in high-heeled shoes (as useful as they are) isn't such a great idea, here in the rocky Carmel, California.

But I'm telling you, the pay-off is in the hand-to-hand battle, especially when you are swinging your leg to a high-kick at some pissed-off ghost's face. Even crushing someone's foot was made easier.

The warehouse looked deceptively abandoned, rusted, and ready to crumble down. I decided first to circle the area, and get the lay of the land. Two things I've learned in my history of ghost-busting:

1. Know the turf really well before-hand, and

2. Make sure you have an escape rout if things don't go your way.

And I was doing both by checking what was round.

There were two large barn-like doors to the front of the building, facing a small lane, and two to the rear, facing some sort of forest-y type area. This would be my escape route if things went awry.

The windows were well high up, and I'd have to do some serious climbing if I wanted – or needed – to get out that way.

The building seemed isolated enough. No neighborhoods or business centers around.

So I was ready.

I decided to enter through the top windows, so that I could at least get a peak inside. There was a growth of some tall trees near one side of the building. I reluctantly too off my shoes, tied the laces and swung them around my neck.

"_Santa Maria_," I sucked in my breath, when I got to the window.

Guns, weapons, explosives – piled to the sky. All shapes, all sizes; ghosts _holding _them, patrolling the parameter. I felt like I was in a RoboCop movie. Big, beefy guys, tattoos etched on their arms, and past their shirt sleeves. All ghosts like the guy who stopped me at Paul's house.

This was going to get sticky. I swung my leg over the ledge, and climbed onto the top of the roof.


	14. A First Time for Everything

A/N- Next Chapter updated! I will post at the top here some useless trivia from now, until I finish the fic (which hopefully will be soon, as I have 3 days of vacation left until college starts once more).

The title of my fic: **Change**. I picked this, because it captured the tone of the story. Paul has (in this story) changed, and he's going through some changes of heart and mind as we progress, and he falls for Jackie. Jackie is also finding changes – she's come to Carmel, and falls in love for the first time with a guy that's not really her style.

But mainly I based the title on the song, "Change" by Good Charlotte, which I love so much. It's about unrequited love – which really has nothing to do with my story (unless you count Kelly, which I don't, because she's not the main character. :P )

CHAPTER 14: A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING

JACKIE

I saw there was a second level to the building from the inside. It was kind of like a ledge – but a wide as a hallway – that ran along the four sides of the building.

The window near the tree was open to my good luck. There was a guard pacing around a hundred feet from where I was planning on landing, so I waited for him to turn around, and then I slipped through, and landed as softly as I could.

I crept backwards towards the crates next to me.

Suddenly, there was a hand over my mouth, and another firmly at my wrist. I nearly shrieked, but decided to do the next best thing: a hard elbow to the rib cage.

I heard an "Ugh," followed by a familiar voice saying dryly, "Glad to see that I'm not forgiven yet."

My pulse drummed quickly, and I whirled around to see, "Paul! What are you doing here?" I hissed at him, forgetting my vow never to speak to him again.

"Shh!" he whispered, rubbing his ribs painfully. "Not so loud."

I peered over the crates he had pulled me behind to see if the ghost had noticed. Evidently not.

"Why'd you have to hit so hard, anyway?" he winced.

"Because you deserved it," I told him evenly, feeling glad that I hit him.

"You're right," he said dejectedly and hung his head low.

The morose tone in his voice made my insides feel squishy, a mixture of feeling sorry for him and feeling guilty. I did not like it at all.

So I fired at him sourly, "Why are you here, anyway?"

"You mean 'we'," he amended. "Suze and Jesse are here too."

My eyes narrowed. I finally spoke. "And I bet she's the one who told you?" I told him in angry sarcasm.

"And I'm glad she did," he retorted with equal anger. "You came rushing here like a chimp on speed, with no plan –"

"I have a _plan_!" I responded acidly.

"Oh really?" he raised an eyebrow of doubt.

I squirmed, and then burst out with, "Alright, I didn't okay? But so what! I –"

My boots, which I had carefully tied up together, and hung on my neck, slipped, and fell on the ground with a loud clatter.

We both froze.

"What was that?" I heard a voice call out loud.

"Get down!" Paul hissed, and pulled me away from the crates we were next to, and down behind the second stack.

I quickly managed to grab my boots with me just in time.

The thumping of the footsteps became louder. My heart rate quickened with each step. We both held our breaths.

"What the –?" I heard him mumble under his breath.

And then, there was another loud CLUCK! This time it came from the other end of the second floor. My hair stood on end, but after a second of silence, I heard the footsteps receding.

"Suze and Jesse," Paul breathed out loud in realization.

He had unintentionally pulled me on top of him in the scramble to hide, and now his warm breath tickled my cheek.

I quickly got off him as fast as I could, and then looked up.

This wasn't good.

I stealthily reached inside one of the open crates by us. My fingers closed around the first thing in there and then I pulled it out, hurtling it with all my might at the opposite corner of the floor – away from us, and from Suze and Jesse. The guard whirled his head around, looking towards where the object had landed.

"Crap," breathed Paul. I saw him staring wide-eyed at the contents of the box I'd just thrown from.

"Silencers," was the answer to my questioning look. "They silence a gun, so when it fires –"

"I _know_ what a silencer is!" I hissed, not wanting long explanations at a moment like this.

"Then you know that, without a license, they're illegal," he looked at me, pointedly.

That piece of information I didn't know. I was about to ask him how _he_ did – but then I remembered that Paul wanted to go into law.

Before I could say anything, I saw him rummaging around the other crates near by. He found what it was looking for, and pulled it out.

"A gun! Are you _crazy_, Paul!" I quickly grabbed it out of his hands. It was really heavy. "What'd you think you're doing!"

"Getting ready to fight," he told me rationally, as if he did this every day. "I'll take that, thank you," he took the gun back from my hands. I was too much in astonishment to argue back.

He locked the silencer into place. "You can't be serious." I told him, my jaw dropping.

"They're _ghosts_, Jackie," he told me, as if I didn't realize that. "It's not like I'm going to kill anyone."

Then I shook my head furiously. Preppy Paul with a gun in his hands, and I, who had brass knuckles and a baseball bat by my night stand, was here lecturing about gun-control?

No. I, Jackie Sonrisa, was going to kick ass.

I rummaged, taking out a hand gun, trying to remove the magazine cartridge, wondering if it had any bullets in it.

Paul looked at me, half impressed, and half amused. He handed me a magazine from a stash by his knee. I stuck it in the gun and locked it into place.

"Ever fired a gun before?" he had to ask.

I felt a little sheepish, but told him with more confidence than I was feeling, "There's a first time for everything."

He nodded, and we crept, dashing, whenever the coast was clear, from one mountain of high-rising crates to another.

The first thing we had to do was get to Jesse and Suze.

"They got here before I did," Paul explained, "And I couldn't get to them once I crept through the window. So I waited for you."

Hence the open window for me, I thought.

We could finally see them, and they saw us, but in our next sprint to the other stack of crates, we ran, and I blindly bumped into something that gave a deep, "Oof!"

I peered up to see a buff ghost, with a bandanna tied about his head.

"Hey!" he looked down at me. "Who the hell are you?"

Oh crap.

I began to move, but Paul acted much quicker. The next instant, the ghost was gone.

But so was Paul – in a manner of speaking.

He crumbled onto the floor, almost lifeless.

I freaked out. "Paul. Paul!" My heart thudded frantically at my throat. "Paul," I choked back a sob. What happened to him?

I placed my ear over his mouth, to see if he was breathing. He was – thank God. I felt relief wash over me.

And then I heard that same mouth mutter, "Um. What are you doing?"

I snapped my head back up, and pulled my ear way from his face. "Paul!" I breathed of relief."What happen?" I asked, my eyes searching his forehead for bumps, bruises, or any signs of concussions.

There were none, but I saw him rub his head painfully.

"Shifting," he replied, with amusement. "You ought to try it sometime."

This confused me – what was shifting? But I had enough sense to say reply, "I think I'd rather not."


End file.
